


The Delegate

by WanderingBandurria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ACAB, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, American Sirius Black, Anarchism, Cultural Differences, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, Interpreter Remus Lupin, Jealousy, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, POC Remus Lupin, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobic Language, Police Brutality, Politics, Protests, Sailor Sirius Black, Some Communication Issues, Some impulsivity, South America, South American Remus Lupin, Strangers to Lovers, Syndicalism, Traces of angst, When I say South America I mean the subcontinent NOT the region in the US, brief panic attack, homophobic violence, implied attempt at sexual assault, referenced attempted hate crime, some fluff here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 11:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingBandurria/pseuds/WanderingBandurria
Summary: It’s 1921, and Sirius Black is a sailor that wants to prove himself as a political agitator. He sets foot in a lost, forgotten port in South America, where he’s supposed to help with the local organization of syndicalists.He’s not expecting to meet a brown-eyed man who is there to help put his words into Spanish. A man that’s really not interested in anything but doing his job. Nothing more.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 31
Kudos: 32





	The Delegate

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Recto Verso](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173202) by [zambla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zambla/pseuds/zambla). 



> This fic would be nothing without the help of some amazing people. To my beta, LikeABellThroughTheNight, for sticking with me through this, and to my sensitivity readers, N, who helped with some of the anarchist aspects and the Chilean history, and [BrujaBanter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrujaBanter/pseuds/BrujaBanter), who not only helped me with the US history, but also with style and amazing ideas, including the title. Finally, thanks to [Zambla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zambla) for their amazing fic [Recto Verso](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173202), that inspired me to write a fic about my own history. Sirius' role as a political agitator was inspired in their work too.
> 
> All remaining mistakes in the fic are my responsibility. Sorry if there’s too much of a mix of USA English and British English, English is not my first language.
> 
> Some considerations: 
> 
> This is historical fiction and therefore butchery, but the good kind of butchery, I hope. It’s supposed to be placed in 1921, but I’m sure I’m missing some specifics. Let’s say it’s situated between 1903, when there were massive protests that were heavily repressed, and 1925, when another set of big protests occurred. This generally fits the glory days of the IWW in Chile, which were between 1910 and 1930.
> 
> Sirius is a USA citizen in this story - I’ve tried to do my part with research about the country's history, but bear with me if you notice inaccuracies (and I’m always, always happy to get corrections and/or strike healthy discussions about history in the comments or on Tumblr). This story is from his POV, but I’ll omit most of the historical facts occurring in the USA by that time, although I will be making reference to the “first red scare” and prosecution of the left around 1918-1920. It’s not my intention to go deep into the history of the USA and their Wobblies - I just did some research about their takes to have Sirius be somewhat coherent with that, but he responds a lot more to my own understandings and sensitivity about anarchism than what’s historically accurate in the end.
> 
> When it comes to politics, the fic also mixes tactics from different types of anarchism (but this is definitely in the area of anarcho-syndicalism and not anarcho-individualism), and other leftwing parties. I grew up in the heat of social movements, in a context of highly delegitimized conventional politics, so I have a different political frame of reference. I did my best to research to be as respectful as possible. Still, if you have doubts, corrections, or any other type of comment, don’t hesitate to contact me.
> 
> Even with this being mostly imaginary, the conflicts presented here were very real. They were known as “The Social Issue'' (La Cuestión Social) and revolved around extreme poverty, State unresponsiveness, lack of laws protecting the people and massacres of poor people - the best know of is the killing of nitre miners in a school in the north (Matanza de Santa María de Iquique), of which some media has been done, including a beautiful Cantata. I’m oversimplifying the particular conflicts since a lot of them were particular to each industry and I’m not even sure I fully understand them. These issues persisted until around the 30s/40s, when they changed a bit with the incorporation of new laws, but poverty was still rampant and some other issues kept getting worse then, with a dictatorship that included the prosecution of the left and LGBTIQ+ people.
> 
> As you will see here, I know NOTHING about the work of people on ports or ships. I tried to research as best as I could but some things are just assumed to be known. Rude.
> 
> Please read the tags before reading this. There are some terms that might fall in the category of "derogatory"/bullying and are not properly problematized, but I'm trusting everyone reading to be adults and be able to recognize what's not acceptable nowadays.
> 
> The title stands because a delegate would be someone sent to help other people unionize.
> 
> Finally - I love this baby and all that it symbolizes. I hope you give this an opportunity and if there are things you don't understand please ask me, I'm more than willing to edit the fic to make it more clear!

\---

  
  


**VIERNES (FRIDAY)**

  
  


The city was crowded. People came from all directions, from hidden corners and crooked cobblestone streets. Sirius felt dizzy with the masses surrounding him, dizzy as he tried to adjust his legs to the lack of movement of the sea, dizzy with the odours and unknown tastes that filled his mouth. It was all too static and too fast; being on land was a bit surreal after spending months at sea with only short stops in hot, tropical towns. The grey clouds, the dirty buildings and distant houses on the hills made the horizon look like a mosaic - houses that were turquoise, pale pink, deep red, brown and white, and yellow, so much yellow - that gave him a strange colour-whiplash. 

Sirius hadn’t been in a place like this before, even though the wind on his face felt warm and charged, like in every other seaport. In plain sight, the city looked just like any other coastal city, but it was like underneath that it was full of melancholy - and he’d never felt that in a city before. It was as if the whole place vibrated, sighed and threatened to absorb him, almost alive, like no amount of asphalt and wood had the right to be. It was a strange, sad feeling, like the earth regretted the pulse of life that beat under the city’s core. 

Sirius felt drunk on the misery of the strange beat; drunk and scared, because he already felt like he wouldn’t be able to take the poisonous heartbeat under his feet for too long. He swallowed, eyeing the people around him, the dirt on their faces, their wrinkled, tanned hands. He needed to take it for a week. Just a week was all he needed to prove himself.

Maybe the heartbeat was the sign of the city’s decay, as so many people were foreseeing. The Panama Canal(1) condemned the South of the Americas to oblivion by Europe, by _America_. No more obligatory stops in the colourful town after turning the world on its tail through the Magellan Strait; no more adventurers falling hopelessly in love with the lifts that crawled up, up, up the hills, bringing unsuspecting witnesses to the zigzagging, dark streets; no more forbidden love stories born in the noise and the booze of a port where you could be fucking on the street one second and being stabbed in the back the next one. No more citizens from all over the world being born in this God-forsaken country.

Sirius had learnt some Spanish during their stops in other countries, when he went down off the ship with the rest of the sailors to rest his tired muscles after days of hard work. In those places, he had tried to pick up words, but his knowledge was still limited - hola, hello, gracias, thank you, ¿habla inglés? Do you speak English? and born out of necessity, ¿quieres coger(2)? wanna fuck? With that last one, there had come a couple more lewd versions that bright-eyed, beautiful men asked him to murmur in their ears as they fucked, _harder, faster, say it with that accent of yours_. He saved those words deep into his heart, like prizes he had earned and no one could take away from him. 

Even if his list of words had been longer, he doubted any level of Spanish would be worth anything here; people talked too fast and too hard, mouths too closed for him to read their lips, teeth bared in dangerous smiles that he didn’t know how to interpret, shy stances and cast-down-eyes that seemed too submissive when they came with not-so-sweet-sounding words.

He breathed in, trying to make sense of the blur of people around him. He didn’t know who to talk to or where to look, so he rolled up the sleeves of his rough shirt, accommodated his suspenders over his shoulders, and tightened his grip on his dirty, patched-up bag. He hardened his eyes as he scanned the streets and their serpentine flow up to the hills - he was looking for the man he was supposed to meet, of whom he only had vague references given in months-old letters: glasses, black hair, short frame. 

He felt like the words no hablo Español, come and fuck me, I don’t speak Spanish, were etched on his face. He probably looked like easy prey for anyone trying to scam newly-landed sailors. He tried to look threatening as he noticed a group of men eyeing him. He didn’t want to get mugged, nor get into a fight - not this soon, not when he was supposed to be making contacts. He squared his shoulders, using his height, and just as he felt powerful and tall, an unexpected melancholy hit him like a wave of dirty water, and he felt his facade crumble. If upon setting foot in the city everything had felt a bit like a dream, now it was like the world had fallen off its axis, as he was suddenly overcome by a sense of _otherness_ , of _not home_ , threading in the realm of nightmare’s estrangement. _It made no sense,_ he thought bitterly, knowing it was a lie. He’d been wanting to leave his country for months, to do something meaningful, to help the purpose of the organization they’d been fighting for with love, sweat and blood. The Industrial Workers of the World had been intended as an _international_ quest in its definition, formed to aid syndicalist’s negotiations of workers around the world. 

He didn’t even know what this pull towards _home_ meant - the last time he’d called a place _that_ , it’d been years and years ago, and he’d left it with no hesitation, no pain when he turned sixteen and finally ran away. The nostalgia felt so out of place that it was like a punch in the gut, unexpected and bitter-tasting in his mouth. 

With his pulse roaring, he tried to keep his face straight, his eyes on the hills instead of the buildings looming over him. He listed things around him, as he’d learnt that that helped him when he got like this. Valparaíso was ugly and beautiful in equal parts, full of sad-looking people and hungry, whining dogs. The people looked like tired puppets that dragged their feet on the streets, some of them deformed by the hours of hard work - years of exploitation making their necks black with grime that never came off because there was never enough water to clean themselves, never enough food to put muscle on their bones, never enough money to buy clothes. Sirius knew about that. It was April and the leaves were falling, and people were dressed in almost translucent-by-use shirts and soft looking trousers - and it wasn’t because of customs or _hotter blood_ : He saw a couple of middle-class men walking fast through the streets, and they were properly covered.

He felt a pang of rage as he watched two kids running barefoot, screaming and laughing, with a dog jumping by their side, trying to lick their faces.

He felt tired and _old_ , like he’d come not only from another country but from another era. He’d been at sea for months, and hunger and exhaustion weren’t unknown to him. And still, seeing the toothless old people, watching the almost naked kids, looking at the tired women and the dirty men, he felt like he’d been lost and missing. He felt like a stranger in his skin, in his shoes, in his dirty shirt and dirty hair that was still not as bad as half of the people he saw around.

Like a hammer, he felt the guilt against his ribs. He knew he should have been ready for this; he’d thought he’d been ready for this - _it’s a poor country, Black,_ Moody had said, _you have to be ready for that, the rich bleed the people like animals, and almost every nation of the north - the British, the French, the Spaniards, but also us, Sirius, the rich motherfuckers from America too_ , _have inched their teeth in its neck and took whatever they wanted,_ and he had fixed his eye on Sirius. Sirius had thought he was ready because he’d _seen_ poverty, so much poverty in California, in unexpected corners and in distant neighbourhoods where he rented small rooms that smelled like cabbage and were dirty to the core, so he had nodded and had said he could do it. But right then, upon arriving, panic and fear took control of his blood and he realized that maybe - maybe he wasn’t ready. Not because of the poverty: he’d _seen_ it, he’d _lived_ it, he’d _feared_ it when day after day he’d woken up not knowing if he would eat; but because, maybe, he wasn’t ready to understand how different misery looked here. 

With a sigh, he hoped that as the days passed, he would come to realize it wasn’t that different. He hoped, he hoped. 

His blood still thrummed in his ears as he scanned the crowd again, noticing a man walking towards him, round glasses almost falling from the tip of his nose. Sirius felt a wave of relief as he recognized him as the person that was supposed to meet him - _James Potter_ , the letters had been signed with. The relief lasted only one second, though, before worry settled back in his chest. He frowned. With the man with glasses came a tanned, skinny, brown-haired man that walked in a slightly wobbly fashion that suggested that something had happened to one of his legs. He had that same sort-of-friendly smile that he’d been seeing on most people around the city. As they came closer (brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin) Sirius noticed scars on his hands, and a couple of less noticeable ones marking his face too. Sirius had no idea who the man could be, and he tried to squeeze his brain to remember any detail in the letters he’d been exchanging with the local intellectual that contacted them, trying to remember anything about a second man that fit the looks of this - this uncanny, attractive man. He came up empty-handed. 

He steeled himself: if he'd been set up, he at least would go down with a fight. It wasn’t news how much hate the Wobblies, as the members of the Industrial Workers of the World were called, were amassing; how the rich were frowning at them and clamouring for the governments to send their dogs sniffing after them, calling for their community centres and offices to be closed down, for their meetings to be raided, for their pamphlets and newspapers to be burned. 

The man didn’t look like a police officer though, with his much-too-loose threadbare dark green trousers and rope belt, his wrinkled shirt that showed his forearms, and a dirty red cravat, but what did Sirius know about Pigs in this country? Instead of trying to relax, he took a deep breath, grabbed firmly his bag on his shoulder, and pressed his other fist to the side of his leg.

“Sirius, yes?” and as he was talked to, Sirius cast his eyes away from the thin man, feigning disinterest, like he hadn’t been really _looking_ at him, but just resting his eyes on him. 

The man with glasses smiled and extended his hand for Sirius to shake. This was, without a doubt, the man from the letters that wanted someone from the IWW to come over to talk to the dock workers, to exchange ideas and lift the spirits to strike, to discuss the experiences of organization in the US; to come and give speeches that they hoped would help feed the hungry with something other than resignation. 

The man with glasses had a thick accent, and as they shook hands, he smiled again. 

“James - James Potter,” he clarified before starting to walk. For a second, Sirius thought of staying put and demanding more explanation rather than blindly following a stranger, but then he decided to just go with it. The other man - _brown eyes_ man, _still smiling enigmatically_ man, _still maybe a Pig_ man - was already walking with James, and it was clear that he knew where they were going. “This is, ah, my English is… not good. This is Remo(3), my friend, he translation for you(4). He help you with the workers. Remo work with, with, move stuff, so he know them,” James was saying without stopping while pointing at the stranger. Remo, walking at the other side of James, managed to make eye contact with Sirius. He gave Sirius a short nod, with that same vague smile. Sirius’ tension increased in his body, even though his mind pointed out that _oh_ , not a cop then. “My father try teach me English - a English father and English name, but no, bad head. Remo is good, natural,” and he laughed then. Remo looked down to the floor, a small frown on his face that contrasted with that mild-mannered smile. “His mother work, worked for my father. Kitchen, good food. She take Remo to play with me, well, no, she take Remo to help, but I always distract to play, play, play. But Remo, no, no, no play, no play. He - in the library, you know? My father find him reading all the books, all the books. English, French, Español, all the books! Dad was so happy - call Remo his little secretary, he call him that, you know? But then Remo leave us,” and only then James hesitated, talking before at full speed as they stumbled around the city, James’ short, muscular legs moving fast as they crossed streets, parks and sidewalks and started walking up a steep street. 

Remo seemed to understand James’ doubts and provided _‘left us’_ in a soft, high, raspy and tired voice that caught Sirius unawares. It made him think, without meaning to, about _sighs_ and _low moans muttered against arms_ _to try to muffle them, to try to hide them from prying ears -_ and he shouldn’t have been thinking of that, but his mind was a bigger traitor than he knew, apparently. It was a good voice for an interpreter, he forced himself to think instead; it’ll be contrasting enough with his own voice to be heard when talking at the same time. 

James smiled at Remo as he nodded. “He left us. But ah, not my story. But he, he help you, yes? Remo, Sirius, Sirius, Remo. He’s very smart, Sirius, you like him, very smart my man here,” and with that, he stopped by a dirty, pale brown building before pushing a heavy-looking double glass door with golden letters painted on the glass. In silence, James entered into what was a restaurant with black and white tiles, green curtains, flowery tablecloths and wooden stools people seemed to barely balance on.

Sirius felt disoriented, and that didn’t sit quite well with him - he hadn't been able to pay attention on their way to the restaurant, too distracted by James’ chattering. Discomfort settled between his ribs as Remo slid inside the restaurant, his steps light with the lack of meat on his bones. As Sirius walked behind him, he noticed how Remo squared his shoulders, raised his head, fisted his hands, and immediately looked like he was all hard edges. He moved swiftly and precisely, like he was economizing every movement, and went to sit down at a table in a corner. Sirius thought that it was like he was getting ready for a fight, getting in a place from where he could watch every corner of the small room. James stopped for a second by the door, scanning the place, and then walked behind Sirius. 

Sirius wondered if they’d taken him to a safe place, to a place where they could talk politics. He was feeling slightly irritated at their wariness, but then James sat down by his side and relaxed, and Sirius couldn’t see anything but excitement in his face, even though he kept looking around.

The red-headed woman that tended the tables had short hair that curled around her forehead and ears, big hips, and a small frown on her face that disappeared as soon as Remo smiled at her. With a frown of his own, Sirius decided that it was time to get to business. If that forced Remo to cast his eyes away from the girl to start interpreting, well, that wasn’t Sirius’ fault, since James was the one utterly lost, in the need of an interpreter.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, James, and put a face to all those letters,” Sirius said with a smile. Those were his first words in the day, he realized. Remo dragged the words in a soft dance of vowels by his side, and Sirius had to focus on his own words to keep himself in check, because that voice was making him lose focus. “Thank you for bringing a translator too, I hadn’t really thought about how I would communicate. Remo,” he said while nodding at the translator, who nodded back. He was tempted to say the truth - that he was overwhelmed, that being in Chile was a bit surreal. Instead, he raised his chin and said, “now, can you tell me a bit more about how the Wobblies are organizing here? Your letters referred to it, but I’m guessing that now, face to face, I’ll get a better picture,” he smiled as the woman came closer. James smiled at her too, raising his finger at Sirius, ordering for all of them in messy, fast Spanish that made Remo stop translating the words and the girl roll her eyes.

James smiled and joked, and Remo tried to keep up as he translated _straight to the bone, I see, I like it._ Sirius fought to keep his eyes on James as he started to talk fast and even. He had, to no surprise on Sirius’ side, great insight into tactics and historical processes. He quickly took a business-like attitude, as he chatted away about members and quotas and areas of the organization, and how the Wobblies were changing the ways of organization of the workers and the landscape by making short, continuous strikes directed to the patrons instead of to the State, as socialists did, which had led them to high success and a great number of affiliates. _Workers used to be organized based on the work they did_ , Remo said, softly and calmly, looking at his hands as he translated James’ words, and proceeded to explain how now they organized themselves based on their placement of work. _Unions are not legal, but tolerated because companies can’t afford to lose the workers_ , Remo continued, as James tapped his fingers on the table, before explaining how they tried to deal with strikebreakers and companies' lockdowns. _There’s been some resistance to organize between different areas, but we are getting there and most people are excited now. We had a couple of successful strikes with the bakers in Santiago, the capital city, and the community here is getting strong. We still need some motivation to think beyond strikes, though, since most workers are too focused on what we can get, and not on trying to change the way we live,_ and Remo swallowed at that, looking back at Sirius with his brown, shiny eyes, and there was something like worry there, even though James looked hopeful.

They continued the conversation, Sirius asking about salaries, James explaining they were a misery. Sirius asked about women, James shook his head and said that sea workers were still extremely thick-headed, but there were some organizations based on industries, and some others more focused on women’s civil rights. He talked then about the need to work towards egalitarianism, and how some comrades were actually happy to embrace a free-love perspective which should come from seeing their partners as equals, but conflict between that and not taking responsibility for the household and children was arising. Sirius asked about the organizations in factories, and Remo managed to translate the long, long explanation from James about laws, schedules and equipment. When Sirius asked about the organization of the IWW, James talked about annual congresses, different sub-organizations, groups in different cities, and exchanges with people from Argentina, Spain and Portugal.

When their food was served, Sirius already had a decent idea about how the Wobblies were operating, the general political landscape with the rest of the left (organized in another big union lead by socialists), and about what James thought Sirius was needed for - helping bring ideas about organization, about life beyond the strikes, lifting the spirits after a particularly horrible protest at the beginning of the century that left all the people angry and fearful, as the poor were killed on the streets like flies. Remo’s voice went tight at that, even as James seemed mostly angry, so Sirius didn’t ask for details, and dug into his soup and bread. It tasted weird, but he didn’t complain. He was ravenous, he realized, and so seemed to be Remo. James just shut up for a bit, so they ate in silence.

“What I’m not sure I understand,” Sirius said then, as he licked his spoon for the last traces of semolina. He made eye contact with Remo, who was licking the plate unapologetically, his eyes shining over the rim. Sirius' mouth was suddenly dry again, as those eyes traced his features. “Um. What I don’t understand,” he started again, still entranced by Remo's gaze, “is what is James’ role in all of this. He doesn’t look like a worker,” he asked, looking at the calluses on Remo’s hands that mirrored his own, at the dirt on Remo’s neck, at his broad shoulders - James was a sturdy man, and still, he didn’t look as strong as Remo.

Remo put his plate down and to Sirius’ surprise, he rolled his eyes and licked his lips before passing his arm over his mouth. “Ask James. Use the words you’d use to ask _him_. I’m just here to translate,” he said, and Sirius felt himself blush as he looked back at James, who looked at them with curious eyes. Underneath Remo’s words there was something cutting and hard.

“What - what’s your role in all of this, James?” he asked in the end, clumsily, with Remo echoing him.

James laughed and said something that definitely sounded like _bourgeois_ , but Remo just smiled impishly at Sirius and said “well, I try to help as much as I can. Don’t take me wrong, I know I’m an _intellectual_. I’m a journalist who comes from the privilege of my family’s capital. My father left me a printer, and all I have to do is work a bit to keep a fairly luxurious life - but I believe in the need for change for workers in our country. That’s why Remo is going to be the one helping you. The Wobblies call me for talks about politics sometimes, but I’m not an organizer, nor a leader - well, you probably know about that, there’s only a secretary, who you’ll meet tomorrow, but he just helps to keep the money and activities organized. All the workers are equal and can start their own initiatives, use the community centre as they want. I was just asked to reach out to you because of my contacts and supposedly, my English. The _Old Men_ (5) will probably trust you more if Remo is the one doing the introductions,” and as he said that, Remo snorted and then muttered to Sirius “sorry, give us a second,” and turned to James, starting to speak fast and evenly in Spanish with him for what felt like an eternity, but couldn’t be more than a couple of minutes. Sirius started squirming on his chair, tiredness suddenly hitting him, as he realized how everything hurt a day after getting the ship in the port. 

He started wondering if it would be too rude for him to interrupt them when James, with a frown set on his face, gestured at Sirius with his chin, making Remo turn towards him. He was slightly blushed, but with that everlasting smirk still on his lips - and Sirius was starting to wonder if it wasn’t more of a self-deprecating gesture.

“Sorry about that,” Remo said in his soft, even accent. He couldn’t stop himself from looking fixedly at Remo, trying to read him - Remo blushed a bit further, barely noticeable on his tan cheeks, but still making something stir in Sirius’ guts. He started to wonder if he might have a chance to take this man to his bed before the end of the week, when he’d depart to the south. His skin prickled with anticipation at the idea of having Remo flushing, smirking, looking back at him with steady, needy eyes. 

He had to force himself to look at James.

“It’s okay. I’m guessing we’ll keep the rest of our talks for tomorrow and call it a day today?” he asked then, and James nodded.

“I’ve organized things for you to stay at a hostel. You can take the morning tomorrow to organize your ideas. Remo will pick you up in the afternoon. There’ll be a couple of rallies during the week. I won’t be seeing you until one of the public ones on Sunday: we have one in Plaza Echaurren - that’s the park we walked by on our way here,” and even though Sirius had no idea what they meant, he still nodded, and stood up to shake James’ hand in goodbye, the stool scraping against the battered floor.

\---

It was like the whole city had shifted in the couple of hours they’d spent dining. The night had suddenly arrived, black and blue and grey with the faint lighting of streetlamps and the ships in the sea, and the smell of smoke from coal burning on braziers and stoves.

All the people had suddenly vanished, or maybe it was because they were getting higher on the hill they'd started climbing after leaving the restaurant. It was eerie with the smoke; so different from the afternoon that Sirius felt restless, depending on the sound of Remo’s deep breaths and steps to remind himself that everything was okay.

They walked in silence through the impossibly empty streets after Sirius shook James’ hand and Remo kissed the cheek of the redhead girl and hugged James. A pang of _something_ had settled in Sirius’ belly at that, heavy and bitter, even though his stomach was still full with the soup. He tried to not pay attention to it - it was probably the feeling of arriving, the awkwardness of depending on Remo, a man that seemed to not care much for him. 

It was probably the disappointment of not having time here to find a man and have a good fuck.

They walked up a hill and quickly Sirius found himself struggling for breath while Remo, still limping a bit, climbed up like it was a Sunday stroll. Sirius looked as subtly as he could at Remo's face in the yellow lighting of the streetlights - tired brown eyes, soft eyebrows, soft jawline, spidery scars on his arms. He was handsome, and in a different context, Sirius would have felt pretty confident in asking the guy to go with him to a dark corner. Here, though, it seemed ill-advised, somehow. 

“So - how long have you been with the Wobblies?” he asked, because the silence felt heavy and loaded. Remo had just said, “follow me” after they had left the canteen, and then kept his mouth shut.

But now Remo laughed, and even though Sirius felt a bit taken aback by the reaction, he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the soft, sweet and raspy sound that came out of Remo’s mouth.

“I’m not,” he said then, looking at Sirius from the corner of his eye, a smile on his mouth that still didn’t seem polite nor nice, as he started climbing a set of stairs.

“What?” Sirius asked, trying to not trip on the cement steps, too far apart from each other to be at all comfortable to climb. Sirius’ thighs burned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not part of the Wobblies,” Remo repeated with an easy shrug that showed Sirius how big his shirt really was on his shoulders, how threadbare it was, how easy it would be to push it off his shoulder and lick at the juncture of his neck while pulling away his cravat. “I’m only helping you because James asked me. There’s no space amongst the anarchists for someone like _me,”_ he said turning his face to look straight into Sirius’ eyes. 

Sirius felt paralyzed at the look in those eyes - defiant, hateful, scared. Remo’s voice didn’t quiver, not even for a second, but he looked small, with his too-big shirt, his dirty hair, his high-pitched tenor voice. 

_What do you mean_ , Sirius wanted to say. _Are you and James a thing?_ he wanted to ask, at the spark that seemed to burn under Remo’s eyes, _what the fuck are these fuckers doing here,_ he wanted to scream, even though he knew he had no right to judge any other regional group of anarchists, since they followed the idiosyncrasy of each country. _Would you let me suck your dick_ , he felt bubbling in his chest with desperation.

“We are here,” Remo said before Sirius could open his mouth. Remo stopped in front of a big, dark wooden house, with black outer doors that were opened, and a green door with yellow glass behind three once-again-too-big steps. Before Sirius could figure out what was happening, Remo was already at the door, knocking on it.

\---

Half an hour later, Sirius found himself in a small room with a single bed, a bookcase, a desk and a chair, and with Remo standing by the door, looking small, hesitant, and ready to leave.

The door had been opened by a severe-looking woman that Remo had kissed on the cheek and then introduced as Minnie, and with whom he had started to talk in his fast Spanish before explaining to Sirius that _Minnie doesn’t speak English but she’ll try to help you as much as she can_. Then, they’d been led to a basement with a bare table and some wooden chairs. _Poppy, the other owner of the place, will make your meals; breakfast between six and eight, and dinner when you get back. If you are used to having lunch, you’ll have to fend for yourself because that’s not included in what James paid for,_ Remo had said, eying Sirius with almost disapproval, like he was guilty of wasting James’ money. 

The whole house creaked and groaned as they moved over the dark wooden floor. After the dining room, Minnie had guided them up some stairs, first to point to a door where Sirius could find her or Poppy, in case of need - _she’s not here,_ Remo had fumbled with the words, finally looking exhausted. _Poppy, she works as a, ah, something like a nurse, but local, and she’s helping in a delivery now. With a baby, I mean,_ Remo had explained when Sirius had asked about her. Then, they’d moved one more floor up, to the white-painted door with a padlock for which Minnie handed Sirius a key with a stern frown before disappearing down the stairs.

“I’ll be here tomorrow in the afternoon,” Remo said then, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and pulled at his sleeves. “All the meetings are held after five, and I have to work in the morning,” he mumbled. Sirius looked back at him, slightly hypnotized by the faint blush on his tanned cheeks and how Remo seemed to have had the fight drained out of him. Remo rubbed one of his espadrilles on the floor, his eyes cast down. 

“No worries, I want to check out some of the books that James lent me, so it’ll be good to have the day for that, even if I don’t understand anything but the numbers,” Sirius said, hoping for a smile on Remo’s face at his reference about his lack of knowledge of Spanish, but all he got was a short nod, and suddenly Remo was muttering _well then, good night_ , and turning around.

“Remo, wait,” Sirius quickly added, making Remo stop. He didn’t turn around but only peeked over his shoulder, brows furrowed. “What did you mean by there not being space for someone like you amongst the Wobblies?” he blurted, clumsily, grabbing the chair by its back to try to keep some semblance of balance. 

Remo stood there, looking at Sirius, before smirking.

“No space for faggots amongst the Wobblies(6), haven’t you heard? At least, not for those who won’t hide it,” he said, eyes aflame and voice even. Sirius clenched his teeth. Remo was beautiful, but he was suddenly also a force of nature, angry and powerful.

On any other occasion, Sirius would have taken the admission as an invitation to ask the other man to stay; he would have walked the two feet that separated them and grabbed his face and kissed him before throwing him on the bed. In any other scenario, Sirius would be hauling Remo from his feet and pushing him against the wall, grabbing at his hips like they were the only lifeline left. 

But the thing was that Sirius was part of the IWW, and Remo’s eyes burned with contempt. The thing was - Remo was his interpreter, and he had only one week here, and needed him to help him, and Remo hadn’t shown any sign of interest in Sirius. It didn’t matter that Sirius was handsome, it didn’t matter that he usually got things to go his way.

So Sirius just swallowed and shook his head. “Not - not everywhere. Not everywhere. It’s not what we are supposed to be about,” he said, weakly, and Remo’s eyes burnt with recognition and desire, as he smirked, slowly.

“Well, they are here,” he said, and suddenly he looked tired again, as he pulled at his lip with his fingers. “Don’t worry, I still fight my fights, and I still participate in their acts as much as I can - it’s not,” and he swallowed then, breathed deeply and his eyes went out of focus like he was deep into memory. _His neck must hurt,_ Sirius thought, given how he was still peaking over his shoulder. “It’s not that I _really_ hate them. It’s just… hard. Doesn’t matter,” he added then, hastily, shaking his head a bit. “It’s not that important, not for you. Good night, Sirius,” he said then abruptly, and before Sirius could say anything else, he was gone, his steps resonating through the house. 

Sirius was left looking at the corridor through his empty doorframe. He felt suddenly tired, too tired. As he lay down, he fell into a night of restless sleep, where he dreamt of brown eyes and tanned hands turning into fists that knocked out his teeth. 

\---

**SÁBADO (SATURDAY)**

Sirius woke up when the sun was rising, tired, sweaty, hard and empty. With resignation he went to sit at the desk, pulled some sheets of paper out of his bag, and started scribbling until his hand hurt and the clock showed that it was seven-thirty.

He went downstairs and met Poppy, who was sweet and fussed about him, and didn’t speak a word of English either, but put a glass of milk in front of him and two slices of bread with butter. He ate in silence and then returned to his room, where he kept writing, switching between pages that talked about _brown eyes_ , and those that talked about the need to plan their strategy and commit to the public good and the well-being of _everyone,_ including those forgotten by their own people.

\---

There was a window in Sirius' room, just behind the header of the bed. He’d realized it was there during the night, as he tossed and turned in the bed because the curtains were too thin and the streetlight cast shadows on the walls.

As the hours passed, Sirius found himself less capable of concentrating on the words, so he perched himself on the header of the bed, smoking as he watched the deep, deep blue sea that shone with the sunlight. The port was incredibly beautiful, even with the screeches of machines and seagulls, the smell of piss, and the dirt on the streets. He looked down to the street, to the people walking by, to the houses around them - dark brown, deep red, black, light blue, pink. The world seemed a bit more normal that day. It still felt a bit like a dream, but a dream he could make sense of.

He saw Remo walk briskly towards the house, climbing stairs and stopping to chat with an old woman, all politeness, all laughter. Sirius’ heart squeezed once again at the sight of the man, and Sirius couldn’t understand how, _how_ it had happened that he’d come to be attracted to this man so fast. Sirius wanted to know more about him: his struggles, his work, about his history. He wanted to cuddle Remus on his bed and hear him talking about the past he’d only gotten glimpses of with James’ introduction. He wanted to listen to him talking about the present and the future.

Sirius swallowed as he put out his cigarette. This wasn’t why he was here. Maybe a quick fuck would solve this, but his heart resisted the idea of just waiting for the night and picking a man from the streets. He wanted Remo, and he knew it wasn’t wise to try to get him - but there was a pull so strong under that, that he felt cold and scared.

He moved away from the window, sitting on the chair, trying to pick up phrases in one of the low-quality newspapers that came within James’ book. He could follow some words that talked about salaries and organization, alcohol and social revolution, but his mind wasn’t on it - it kept pulling to Remo, and his heart beat mercilessly, knowing he was close.

When Remo got to his door, opening after knocking and Sirius calling him in, he looked tired, beautiful and almost shy. He was wearing clean trousers and a muscle shirt that showed how lean and thin he was, but also the muscles in his shoulders from years of hard work. He had a blue-and-purple-flowered cravat around his neck, that contrasted with the casualness of the rest of his clothes.

“Hello,” Remo said, a bit sheepishly. He looked less pissed off than the previous day, being almost pleasant. “Are you ready to go?” he asked then, and _yeah_ , Sirius could feel the gentleness in his voice, the almost apologetic tone. 

Sirius nodded and smiled, feeling restless with excitement, as he tried to focus his mind on - what he came here for - syndicalism, organization, social change. 

Still, he could feel the pull of attraction, the sweep of his stomach, the sweat on his palms, as he walked in silence by Remo’s side through the streets of Valparaíso. The city was busier today. Even though they walked quietly, Sirius felt a bit more normal than the day before. Remo walked with intent, with his shoulders squared and firm, keeping his legs further apart to ease his knees on the downhill.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Remo said all of the sudden, soft and sweet voice a bit strained. Sirius looked at him, startled, keeping a hand on the dirty walls by his side as he walked. “I wasn’t… Well, yesterday - it’d been a long day. I wasn’t the nicest. I know we have to keep together this week, so I’ll try -”

“Oh, don’t sweat it,” Sirius said quickly, interrupting Remo. “It’s all good. I would love to know more about your thoughts on the IWW and get to know you a bit more, but you don’t - you don’t _owe_ me anything. I understand if you are doing this just for James,” He said, before cursing under his breath at the change of texture under his hand, rough and itchy now. He could feel it scraping his calloused palm.

Remo bit his lip but shook his head.

“I’m not doing this _just_ for James. I… I like the idea of changing how things work. I like the ideas that the anarchists have about changing things in everyday life, looking for solutions from social life and not starting with big economic, political changes. I - I do participate with the Wobblies, you know? I’m, well, I’m part of the school, we um, read classics. I’m not - it’s just complex. I collaborate on a magazine - the girl from the canteen, yesterday?” and Sirius nodded, keeping his eyes upfront even though they weren’t descending anymore but walking on a flat street. “Lily, she directs a women’s magazine(7). For, for women - workers, well no, not only workers, like, proletariat,” and he grimaced at the word. Sirius caught the gesture by the corner of his eye, and so he started laughing, startled, and fixed his eyes on Remo, who smiled warmly. “It’s - it’s nothing too big, I mostly help with the writing - grammar, prose, whatever - because not all the girls know how to write,” he said, but he kept smiling, a bit more proudly now. “James has the print, so he also helps. But anyway, yeah, we collaborate with anarchists there all the time, to reflect about society, to talk about politics and social change.” 

“What else do you talk about in the magazine?” Sirius asked, curiously, as they crossed a park full of people that Sirius barely noticed, his world zoning on to Remo.

“Ah, everything, honestly!” he said, and Sirius could see the excitement of talking about something he was passionate about, as his hands moved everywhere with his words. “It’s not - it’s not a _political_ magazine, it’s just about things that the girls like. Movies, and - well, clothes patterns, and cooking, but also music, and fútbol, and work. We have this funny section of fake letters that pretend to be asking for love advice but are mostly about depicting the problems of romantic love as it is sold to us, and a bit about commenting on the political things happening, and well, the girls always find a way to bring the thing about the female vote - we were really excited about your people getting it! We actually made a number about the culture of the USA, with recipes and all,” and as Remo laughed, Sirius’ heart did a backflip, even as he felt his stomach twisting. _Not all women, only educated women, only white women,_ he thought, but he bit his tongue. “We wrote a letter from a gringa wanting to move back to New York, but not wanting to deal with - oh, we are here,” Remo said then, stopping on his tracks in front of a house.

Sirius wanted to keep listening to him - he wanted to listen to him forever if it was possible, but he steeled himself, squared his shoulders, and said, “You’ll have to tell me more about it later,” and felt something like pride flourish in him at the flush on Remo’s cheeks and his pleased smile before he pushed the front door open.

\---

Sirius shifted in his chair, nervously, as he rested his elbows on the table in front of him. The heat coming from Remo by his side helped him to calm down.

He’d just finished talking - a long-winded speech about life outside the strike, about the need to think about the people, of discussing the _whys_ of the revolution going into the future, and not only the past or the present. He’d talked about the problems in the US, with the prosecution and deaths of Wobblies, and the importance of diversity, and education, and… He didn’t really remember what he’d talked about; he’d been too nervous, too sweaty, the pages of the speech he’d prepared with the ink too smeared to be readable. He tried to breathe and reassure himself that Remo had seemed to work with his words with passion - so maybe even if he’d talked just rubbish, maybe Remo had managed to make sense of them.

In front of him, the short man that had shown him around the beautiful house that was the community centre of the Wobblies shifted in his seat too, seemingly in deep thought. _This is Pedro,_ Remo had said, _but everyone calls him el Italiano, the Italian._ And then Remo had translated _I’m not really Italian,_ as the man laughed, _but my grandfather was. Still, I prefer the Italian to Piss Head_ (8), _that was the other nickname I got offered_ he had joked, and Remo had then to explain that that was a nickname used for blond people.

A woman by his left started nodding and talking very fast, and Remo’s hand came over his knee under the table, squeezing reassuringly before moving away, as he started to speak: _he’s right, we need to think about our happiness. We are taking great steps with the schools, but we need to do more. We need to think about what happiness means to us,_ Remo translated, stuttering a bit as he rushed over the words. 

Sirius looked back at him when Remo stopped talking in English to make a gesture with his fingers splayed as he said más lento, más lento - those words Sirius knew, from nights with a lover in Central America, who asked him to _slow down, baby, slow down_ , and he squirmed again in his chair at the sound of Remo’s voice around the vowels. 

The woman blushed and the room laughed, the tension suddenly disappearing. She slowed down and started talking about the need to think about including women more in the movement.

\---

The tension was suddenly back as they paused for some tea. Sirius was chatting with the woman that talked after him and two other men, one of whom had presented himself as the secretary of the IWW, when from the other corner of the room a man started talking very loudly. Everyone else fell silent. 

Remo went tense by his side, and the people around them seemed to vanish, as they moved to the backyard with excuses about the kids or cigarettes.

“What is he saying?” Sirius asked when he saw the man giving not-so-covert looks at Remo. Remo’s head turned to him, a bitter smile on his lips.

“He was talking about how they need to take into consideration how the upper class corrupts the people, how they keep workers submissive with vices. How they have to stop the whip from alcoholism, and how they are doing things for that, with the groups to help people to stop drinking and put that money and time to good use instead of going around drunk. But now he’s talking about how that also means to eradicate homosexuality,” and Remo smiled again, without humour, rolled his eyes and pointed at his chest with his thumb as he kept talking. “He’s talking how the rich sodomites bring homosexuality into the people, by offering money to sailors and of course, to _straight_ fishermen, and how he read in the newspaper about these dissolute bohemians, but honestly, there’s no need for the newspaper because _everyone knows_ how homosexuality is just the workers giving into the rich’s lack of morals,” and Remo rolled his eyes again and raised his chin then, looking back at the man still talking, louder now.

“Tell him to shut the fuck up,” Sirius said loudly, feeling his blood boiling with every word. Remo just looked back at him, now with a genuine smile.

“I’m not telling him that,” Remo said in a whisper with patience, and continued with urgency before Sirius could yell himself hey, tú, imbécil: cállate. “I’m the one that’s gonna be telling him the words, Sirius, not you - and who do you think is going to stay here after you leave, when you move to say more pretty words in other cities?” he asked bitterly, and Sirius felt the words die on his throat as he looked back at Remo, his mouth open in surprise. “Just - breathe, Sirius, and try to form actual arguments to convince _your_ comrades, to sound reasonable for _them,_ okay? Because you might believe you people _up in the north_ are the only ones that know how to do politics, but we’ve also been having these discussions for a while, okay? and I, I told them to fuck off, and I told them _we_ don’t fuck _only_ the rich,” he said, still whispering, but his words coming out faster, his grammar stumbling a bit, as he looked at Sirius’ lips as he used the word _we_ , making him swallow. “And even when we _do_ fuck rich men sometimes, that doesn’t get us infected with _lack of awareness_. I’ve told them that if the only thing we, _maricas_ (9) _,_ get from other workers is punches in the guts or kicks in the face, or our shoulders pushed down with demands of their dicks being sucked in dark alleys to then tell us to fuck off, then it’s probably going to be hard for them to build an organization, a new way of living, that’s actually for _all_ the workers,” and Sirius felt once again anger push through his veins, even though Remo’s words came with complete calm, though his eyes flashed dangerously. “So you better think well, pretty boy, because you are not here to talk about this, mmm? You better keep that temper in check, because we don’t need you to talk on our behalf - not about things you don’t really understand,” he said, still whispering, with an edge of steel on his voice.

At those last words, Sirius fully turned to face Remo. 

“I’m not talking _on your behalf_ ,” he said, and Remo kept the eye contact, brown eyes bright. “I’m - I talk on _ours_ , okay? and I might not understand this situation fully, I might - I don’t know anything about your country, but I did have to fight some of my own battles about this, so just -” and Remo stood still for a second before he nodded, his eyes still intense, and Sirius could breathe then again, before turning to face the group in which the man was still talking. “Would you translate for me? I promise I won’t bite the bait. I’ll just - talk about inclusion, and arts, and love, okay? I - I’ll leave you out of it,” he asked, and he saw Remo nod by his side, as he looked at him through the corner of his eye.

“Okay. Just - You’ll have to interrupt him. He never shuts up otherwise,” Remo said lightly, crossing his arms behind his back. Sirius laughed, a bit pitched and nervous, but then started walking towards the group.

“Comrade,” he started, hearing Remo talking loud and firmly by his side. “We couldn’t avoid hearing your speech there, and I’m sorry for interrupting, but I want to make sure that what I tried to discuss, what I wanted to offer as a reflection from our experience in the US was well understood, and I’m afraid it’s not exactly what you were saying - what I was talking about was the question of _life_ , and _love,_ comrades. It’s about our need for something more - yes, no need to laugh, my man, I _did_ say love because that’s what is moving us in the end, isn’t it? We are angry, we might build and burn things down when it’s needed, but only because we want a different world - one that it’s based on love, and passion, and where _everyone_ can be themselves - and be happy. And I’m not just an idealist. I’m talking about things I’ve lived with my people, with my local Union. Yes, comrades have been killed, persecuted, and even burnt all over the country, all over the world. It took us some time in America, but we stood together during the pain, because you know what? Not only _men,_ as you think of them, died, but also women, and men that were also homosexuals, and Black, and so many other people, all as angry and strong, and doing the same that _your_ kind of _men_ were doing. And don’t get me wrong, comrade,” he said, squaring his shoulders, using his full height, towering over the group, as the man that had been talking got redder and redder. “I’m not saying that workers - _male, straight workers -_ don’t do their part, and are not oppressed. I’ve heard people like you take my words and twist them like that. No, comrade, I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about how we need to recognize everyone; not just those that are easy to put in a box, or easy to fit in the texts that some dudes from Europe wrote, I don’t know, years and years ago. We need _everyone_ to beat the rich, to dismantle the State; we need _everyone_ to change things, to make a world that’s different in a radical, new way, and not just based in oppression again, and again, and again,” he said, finishing almost breathless.

By his side, Remo kept talking for a couple more seconds, before silence fell around them.

The man - red-faced and eyes out of its orbits - muttered something. Sirius could hear the word _gringo._ “He’s insulting you, if you want to know. Won’t translate it because it’s - not easy. I don’t think he’ll fight you. You are too big for him, I would guess,” Remo said by his side, low and softly, and Sirius just nodded, biting his lip to not laugh, without moving his eyes away from the man. The man then spat at Sirius' feet and with three more people, left the room.

“Well, that was awkward,” Remo translated into English as El Italiano started speaking then, and everyone laughed nervously. “But thank you, Sirius, for bringing... another perspective. We have a general meeting tomorrow with all the associates to discuss a call for a strike from the workers of the sea, that we want to move further with the support of other workers. You are welcome to join us and tell us about your experience in the US in those regards,” Pedro finished, and Sirius wasn’t sure if he’d been taken seriously or not, but he just nodded stiffly and shook Pedro’s hand, before thanking them for having him over, complimenting their community centre, and turning on his heels to leave the place. 

\---

Remo walked by his side in silence as they crept back up the hill where Minnie’s and Poppy’s hostel was. Sirius hadn’t felt time passing by while they were with the Wobblies, but it was suddenly nighttime, and the streets were dark and lonely again, and all that Sirius could think about were Remo’s words about _men pushing him on his knees to demand him sucking their dick,_ while bile came up his mouth and rage pulled at his guts.

“How do you do it?” he asked, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. He hadn't really meant to talk. Remo stopped and turned to look at him. The street light above them was off, and in the gloom and shadows cast by the lights from windows and the next streetlight, Sirius saw the confused, small frown that darkened his eyes. “How do you - and I mean, I don’t want to make it sound like it’s better in the US, because it’s - it’s not, not really. But the group I’m part of, well - they don’t go and say that bullshit in front of me, not anymore. If I were you, I wouldn't - I couldn’t -” he trailed off, huffing in frustration.

Remo’s eyes went big, his eyebrows arched up with surprise, and he hummed in the back of his throat as he scanned the streets around them. Sirius stood there, his fists tight against his legs, trying to remember how to breathe, as he wondered how out of line he’d been, when Remo grabbed his shirt, pushed him against a wall and crushed their mouths together.

The wall at his back was cold and sticky, but Remo’s hands were hot against his chest. It hadn’t been that long since Sirius kissed another man, and yet he found himself getting lost in Remo’s mouth like he was a teenager again, having fumbles with other kids at school behind the principal’s office. It was like Remo pushed, pushed, pushed, and Sirius’ brain, heart, his fucking soul, gave in, incapable of doing anything but kiss back, held onto Remo’s arms, drowning, falling, stumbling.

He didn’t realize when Remo _actually_ pushed him and moved them towards a dark alley, but when he stumbled over a trash can, he pulled his mouth away from Remo’s, gasping for air, noticing that his legs were almost shaking. He wanted Remo, he’d known since he laid eyes on him, and yet his mind was blank and he had no idea how to go about this. Remo’s eyes scanned his face, as they breathed harshly, and Remo’s hands slid down to perch on Sirius’ hip, on Sirius’ back, on Sirius’ ass. Sirius breathing stuttered, and Remo asked, “is this okay?”, and laughed when Sirius grunted in response, as Remo pushed their foreheads together and Sirius pushed against Remo’s hips, hard and hot and _perfect._

Then Remo’s mouth was back on his, hot and demanding, and Sirius _couldn’t think_ , and it was bliss and a bit alarming, but _he couldn’t think_ , because Remo gasped with him and mumbled things in English, _perfect English_ , as they rutted against the other, hot breath mixing together when they couldn’t kiss anymore, pitches going up together, their voices mixing like when Remo translated for him. Sirius kept his eyes open, committing to memory the fire in Remo’s eyes, the way his chest moved up and down, how his hair stuck to his forehead. He traced with his tongue the shape of Remo’s mouth when he said _yes,_ and _Sirius_ , and _fuck, there’s so much that I want to do to you._

He was close and so fucking hard, but it was too hot, too much friction, too dry. His hands moved to Remo’s fly, but as he hesitated around the button, Remo bit his ear and mumbled, “Minnie’s place is just two more blocks, back on the main road” as his hands let go of Sirius’ ass, and grabbed with delicacy Sirius’ wrists, stopping him from opening his pants. Sirius nodded and took a couple of shaky breaths, as he pushed his weight back off the wall. Remo took a step back and looked up at him, his hair mussed, his mouth flushed and shiny, his pants tight and his chest moving fast as he tried to get his breath back too.

Remo looked back at him with steady eyes. He looked back at Sirius, taking his time as seconds ticked up - Sirius wasn’t probably much to look at, too much of a mess, breathless, sweaty, hair mussed - and then Remo bit his lip.

“Fuck it,” he said, and he slid back against Sirius, kissing him again as he grabbed his hands and pushed them against his fly, before breaking the kiss, spitting on his palm, and pushing his own hand down Sirius’ trousers. 

Sirius barely managed to open Remo’s fly and slide his fingers into his pants, Remo’s cock wet and slick under his fist. Time slowed down and the world reduced itself to Remo’s hand, and Remo’s cock in his fists, and the coldness of Remo’s breathing against his hot, damp neck. The world narrowed in to slick sounds and laboured breathing, and the way Remo’s fingers grazed his belly on the upstrokes, and how Remo gasped and mumbled _yes, like that, don’t stop_ , when Sirius picked up the rhythm, tensed his grasp a bit more, licked down Remo’s neck. When Sirius came, hard, damp, and so much that it was like time stopped, Remo only said _yes, like that,_ and grabbed Sirius’ wrist to keep the movement, before coming over Sirius’ fingers and against his own clothes, both of them with their pants still on.

Before Sirius could recover, before he could make a _fucking joke_ or say something more, maybe something stupid like _that was incredible,_ or _thanks for that_ , Remo kissed his lips, chaste and soft and reverently, and Sirius felt out of his depth.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Remo said, softly, his voice quiet, but his eyes steely and determined again as he cleaned his palm against his trousers. “Good night, Sirius,” he added then, staying put for a second, as something shifted in him for a second: some softness, some vulnerability made the shortest appearance in Remo’s eyes, and his mouth twitched like he was about to laugh or cry. But then, Remo cast his eyes down, and that softness was gone - Remo’s expression schooled back to neutral and barely kind, and with that, he slid away from Sirius’ grasp, and disappeared in the night, leaving something soft pink and cloudy grey, and not red and black as it should always be, blossoming in Sirius’ heart.

And just like that, Sirius was left, gasping for air, confused and shaking, his come cooling against his underwear and his mind, oddly enough, repeating thoughts about love - it was like the quiet sound of a river, talking about happiness, crossroads, and pain, and then going back to think about love, love, love. And not the kind of love he’d talked about at the Wobblies, but the kind of love he didn’t like to think about, that he didn’t think he could feel, because he usually took, and left, and that was it, and thus far, it had been good and enough. And it wasn’t like he could be feeling _love_ now - he knew he wasn’t; but it was like Remo had put the shadow of it in his heart. 

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he felt deep inside of him that he wanted _more_ , something like putting his heart on a platter, and willingly sharing it with someone else. And the thing was, he’d always thought he wasn’t made for that, _he wasn’t, he wasn’t._ He didn’t know anything about it, and it sounded terrifying and impossible to be anything but a fantasy, a sale from pulp novels, a lie to keep you from giving your everything to other things. 

A sellout idea to keep you in a system of property, he had told himself countless times in the dark, lonely nights in his cabin, in his crappy apartment, in dark corners where strangers fucked him.

He breathed deeply to take in the sea breeze, feeling his skin cold now, as he looked up at the stars. Up there, the South Cross(10) blinked back at him, but it didn’t offer any kind of guidance, so he just knocked his head against the tin wall at his back that had racketed with their weight just minutes ago. With a quick glance, Sirius arranged his clothes as best as he could and started walking back to the hostel.

\---

**DOMINGO Y LUNES (SUNDAY AND MONDAY)**

The next two days passed in a blur. Remo picked him up the next afternoon, acting like Sirius hadn’t come in his hand the previous day, chatting about the general meeting and the call for a strike that was being organized for next Thursday, explaining a bit about the organization of the docks.

Sirius was brought painfully back to the reality that they’d known each other for only a couple of days. He was achingly aware of Remo's presence by his side, and his guts hurt with the knowledge that whatever he was feeling for the man - admiration, desire, the need to know more about him, to keep him by his side, to understand the world through his eyes - was one-sided; a build-up of their sexual encounter that had no basis in reality. He'd only been a valve of release for Remo, another man to give just enough of himself for pleasure and company, to maybe feel less alone in a world that tried to erase them over and over again.

As they moved from the general meeting on that Sunday afternoon, where they heard the affiliates of the Wobblies - thousands of thousands gathered together - discuss the need of the workers to have control over the docks, and vote in favour to support a new strike of the Federation of Workers of the Sea, an organization subscribed to the IWW; to a hill at dusk to meet with barbers and try to convince them to join in the protests, and then late at night back at Minnie’s and Poppy’s; as they moved the next afternoon to the port where Sirius gave a public speech on top of a box of tomatoes with workers and lurkers stopping by, intrigued by the man talking in English in the middle of the sidewalk about the need to join Unions and resist the control of the State by forcing the employers to give better conditions to the workers; to the Wobblies’ community centre at dusk; Remo remained sweet and snarky and funny, making jokes under his breath when the discussions turned to topics that were too specific for Sirius to understand or the exchanges too fast for Remo to translate. His soulful eyes kept getting dark and his smile pulled to one side, but at the same time, Remo kept a foot between them as they walked the lonely, dirty, heartbreaking streets, asking question after question about the US, Sirius’ life in California, and his life as a sailor. Remo left no space to doubt that they were _not_ talking about what had happened between them, and Sirius kept wanting to pull him to dark corners and kiss him, wanting to ask him to stay with him in his room at night, to lie down together with their legs intertwined. He found himself, again and again, wanting for Remo to let him thread his fingers through his hair and mumble sweet nothings in his ear until he made Remo laugh and tell him to stop.

It wasn't good, he knew, to be daydreaming of a man he’d met less than a week ago, a man that he still wasn’t sure really liked him or was just putting up with him until they were done; a man that was right by his side at every minute to help Sirius for some obscure reasons, not because of love - or, better said, yes, for love, but an ugly, bitter love that Remo had in his heart: for the people, for the Wobblies, for James, for Sirius - Sirius didn’t know who was the recipient of Remo’s not-full-love. 

Instead of letting himself wonder, Sirius pushed the images down and tried to make himself useful as they went to meeting after meeting, as he got the bright or scornful eyes of workers on him, as he started to get comfortable in his role as a speaker-with-a-interpreter. He talked about the killings of Wobblies in the US, he talked about their wins, he talked about how it was normal to just want better things but being scared of getting involved. He talked until his voice was rough and his lips dry, and Remo by his side seemed exhausted.

“James stopped by last night,” Remo said, as they left the Wobblies community centre on Monday night, and Sirius hoped that the way Remo’s voice trembled a bit at the name was just his imagination. Sirius’ throat was in dire need of some water, so he didn’t say a word. “He wants to meet tonight for a drink at Lily’s,” he said, his voice pitching up a bit, and at that, Sirius whipped his head to look straight into Remo’s eyes. 

When he saw the smile on Remo’s face, something melted inside of him, and he smiled back.

“I thought anarchists here didn’t drink(11),” he said, his smile growing bigger as Remo laughed.

“Yes, well. James doesn’t, but I’m definitely _not_ an anarchist. Anyways, Lily closed the dining at 5, so it’s only going to be the four of us - James, Lily, and us, if you are up to it,” he said, shrugging. “You and James can save face and do all the things you are not supposed to do,” he added, smiling brightly again, stopping at an intersection. Maybe it was just because they’d spent the past few days together, but Sirius thought he looked a bit nervous and awkward. “It’s okay if you don’t drink or you don’t want to go. I know James wants you to go with him tomorrow to the print while I’m at work - he thinks he can manage some English or just gesture to you if everything else fails,” and both of them laughed at that, but Remo still seemed a bit anxious under his laidback attitude.

“Sure, that sounds nice. And I do drink, so there’s no issue there,” he said, and Remo nodded as they started walking again.

James welcomed them into the diner like Sirius was an old friend, and upon seeing Remo’s dark eyebags, he did his best to speak in English as much as he could. Remo smiled faintly at James as he downed a glass of schnapps as soon as they were sat down, so Sirius too tried to simplify his words and mix in Spanish as best as he could. Lily didn’t speak English, but she was pretty engrossed in a book that James had brought for her, so after asking a couple of questions to Sirius through Remo - about the meetings with the Wobblies, about his hair, and what he thought of the city - and downing a couple of drinks, she decided to move upstairs to read. 

“You sleep here,” James said, later in the night, after they’d spent a good few hours downing drinks, playing dominos, and talking as best as they could about James’ family and Remo’s mother, laughing at silly shared anecdotes that they explained with bright eyes to Sirius. “I sleep - with Lily. Too dangerous the police. They know we like here, so they wait and, you know,” and he made a gesture that seemed to mean punch or take them under custody, or something along those lines. Sirius nodded because he _did_ know. “You go up when you want. Up - there’s -there’s, Remo - alfombra?” he asked in the middle of a yawn, as he drank the last of his tea. 

Remo snorted at that and put more alcohol in his and Sirius’ glass.

“There’s a rug, Sirius, in the stairs’ landing, where I usually crash. Don’t worry, we can snuggle there and fit cozily - I’m willing to share,” he said, with a wonderful smirk and dark eyes, and Sirius felt slightly dazed as he smiled back, before remembering that James was still there.

“Gracias por invitarme, James,” Sirius said to fill the silence, stumbling with the words, and by his side, Remo _giggled_ , so he _had_ to turn back to look at him, with disbelief, as Remo covered his mouth and kept laughing.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that your Spanish is too cute,” Remo said, making a gesture with his hand for Sirius to look back at James, like the words hadn’t made Sirius blush and lose the thread of his thoughts, as he tried to decide what was the best way to flirt back.

“Gracias por venir, Sirius,” James interrupted then, talking slowly and marking every word, and Sirius turned back to him, his cheeks aflame. “Good night, man,” James added then, as he shook Sirius’ hand, before hugging Remo and muttering something in his ear and disappearing through the back door, just by the kitchen’s entrance. 

They stood downstairs listening to one of Lily’s records in silence, the words in Spanish escaping Sirius. Sirius smoked a cigarette and Remo looked at him shamelessly as he finished his drink. When the record stopped, Remo turned off the lights and took Sirius’ hand to guide him past the back door into a tiny backyard and up some ratty stairs. Sirius was drunk and lost enough to keep his chest against Remo’s back as they walked, breathing in the back of his neck, making Remo laugh and sigh, like Sirius’d been dreaming for the past two days. As they climbed the stairs, Sirius grabbed firmly at Remo’s hip with his fingers, not wanting to let more distance be between them, at least for the night, but not daring to plaster himself against Remo’s back as they went up.

The rug was itchy and the blanket left for them on a chair nearby was a bit too short for Sirius, so he had to sleep with his shoes on, but it didn’t matter much, because as they stumbled onto the floor, Remo pulled him close and kissed him, hot and urgently at first, and then lazily for what felt like hours. Their hands wandered up and down each other’s bodies, both of them too drunk to do anything more than try to rub together with their clothes still on, pant in the other’s mouth and laugh muffled against the other’s neck as their fingers skimmed clumsily over buttons. 

When Sirius finally fell asleep, it was with Remo’s hair tickling his nose, his back firmly pressed against Sirius’ chest, and Sirius’ arm slung over Remo’s waist to tangle their fingers together.

\---

**MARTES (TUESDAY)**

When Sirius woke up he was alone on the floor, his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his head like his brains were trying to push their way out.

And standing over him was James Potter with a cup of coffee, smiling.

Sirius managed to understand James’ half-words and gestures to follow him to have breakfast downstairs at Lily’s. Then, James guided him to the commercial zone, where he had his print and where they set themselves to make copies of pamphlets calling for workers to participate in the protest. 

At noon, James invited him for lunch back at Lily’s, and then they moved on a lift to James’ house on another hill, where Sirius was free to peruse his library. Sirius had grown up in a home with a big, dark library, surrounded by books that he wasn’t allowed to touch. As an adult, even though the Wobblies did their best to keep books around, he barely read - all of his time went to work, activism and having what could barely resemble a life out of that, with just a couple of friends.

It was a bit strange spending the day with James, but what was even stranger was how easily they’d fallen into step, even with the language barrier. By the afternoon, they barely had any easy topic left to talk about with James’ half-formed English and Sirius' poor excuse for Spanish, but they still managed to fill the silence with idle chattering, mostly done by James. Sirius felt warm and happy as he listened to him and checked out the books.

James’ place wasn’t really that big: at most, it was half the size of the smallest houses of the Blacks, but it was a comfortable house of three storeys, growing like terraces on the hillside - one with the kitchen, where clearly James didn’t spend much time, but where he received people, one floor with three rooms and a tiny bathroom, and finally the attic that served as a library and studio. It was cozy, and Sirius started to recognize, with an ache in his chest, that it was considered an absolute luxury in a country where families of five slept all together in one bed.

“Remo read today,” James said later, as they walked back to the Wobblies community centre to leave some of the pamphlets. James had insisted on Sirius taking some of them with him, saying something about “Remo” and “work” that Sirius hadn’t understood, because he had no clear idea about what else was expected of him for the next two days but to maybe go to the protests. 

Sirius was both anxiously waiting and dreading Friday, when he was scheduled to take another ship on which to work that would take him to a city in the south, where he was supposed to talk with the local Wobblies. 

He didn’t want to think about that now, though, too caught up in the promise of protests and _Remo._

“Mmm? ¿Qué cosa?” he asked idly, as they crossed a street, trying to make sense of James’ words.

“Remo. Not helping you today. Read - book, books con los Wobblies,” James explained, huffing with the weight of the pamphlets in his bag.

“Oh!” and Sirius suddenly understood, “Oh, he has his reading group today?” he asked slowly, and James nodded. “Oh, that’s - that’s okay. I can go back to the hostel tonight on my own,” he answered, feeling a bit weird at the idea of not interacting with Remo that day. It was okay, though, he’d have to get used to being without Remo soon enough.

“No, no,” James said then, as they approached the building of the Wobblies. “He called - he tell you,” James said, as he huffed again, opening the door of the community centre.

\---

It turned out that Remo had managed to get Sirius a spot to work with him the next day. Remo usually worked carrying things into the port in small boats, protecting the loads, but the work was highly unstable, so he also worked in the storage rooms, and that was what he had managed to secure for the next day - and it was a nice opportunity for Sirius to get to talk with workers who didn’t get involved in the strike during the short breaks. Sirius felt oddly nervous at the idea of talking directly with the Old Men, moreover them being Remo’s workmates - or friends? Sirius wasn’t sure. There was no reason for this, but he felt like an impostor, like he would finally be spotted as someone that came from the high-class that was only trying to play the revolutionary. He bit down the fear - he wasn’t lying, he told himself. He’d left his privileged life many years ago, but still the feeling of not belonging anywhere chased him.

“We need to convince everyone we can,” Remo said, pressed against a wall, talking fast after getting out of his reading group when James went to fetch him. Sirius wanted to put his arms on either side of his head and kiss him. “I’m not good with my own words, and having a new face is a good idea since most of the leaders here haven’t managed to convince most of them yet. They get too carried away on their own political propaganda. It’s worth the shot, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Sirius.

Sirius licked his lips, keeping his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching for Remo’s face, from tracing the scar on his cheek. 

“Yeah, okay. I don’t think we’ll go too far, but a day of honest work will be good for me too,” he said, smiling a bit, and tried to stop thinking about the workers. He focused on Remo’s eyes to try to ease his anxiety. It sort of worked.

Remo smiled back, but it was a nervous reflex.

“Um, okay then. So - I was thinking you could stay with me so that I don’t have to pick you up tomorrow? We have to be there at five, and I - I live much further away, on one of the hills, and - and it’s nothing much, just a room, but um, I have some tools in my room that I need for tomorrow(12). I can sleep on the floor and give you the bed,” Remo said then, looking to the floor. He was nervous, Sirius realized then, so he reached for his arm, softly, leaving his fingers there, heating up Remo’s cold skin.

“It’s no problem,” Sirius said, lightly. “I can sleep in a chair or on the floor if you want me to, I don’t care. I’ve slept in worse, I promise.”

When Remo looked up, there was something firm and steady in his eyes as he scanned the backyard in which they were. A bit away from them, there were some kids playing football, yelling loudly.

“I’m really poor, Sirius,” Remo said then firmly, delicately grabbing Sirius’ arm over his own, circling his fingers around Sirius’ boney wrist before squeezing. “It’s just a room, and I mean it. I’m - I’m just taking you there because I’ve seen your words make a difference. I want you to make a difference for this protest,” he added, and Sirius just nodded, a bit dazzled at the change of demeanour in Remo, as his words built on confidence, as his grip on Sirius’ wrist tightened and tightened. He wanted to push forward and kiss Remo, but then Remo was releasing his wrist and moving away from the wall, back to the door from where he’d come from. 

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then,” Remo whispered, as he slid away from Sirius’ reach and past the door where he’d come from.

\---

Remo had finally come out of his reading group to find Sirius playing football with the kids, who yelled at him as they tried to explain the rules, laughing and throwing themselves onto his back when they lost their patience.

And Remo had _smiled_. Brightly, joyful, looking young and soft, as he talked in fast Spanish to the kids, laughed with them, ruffled their hair and then abruptly pulled away and looked around. He’d then turned to Sirius and said in English, “you look like a puppy there on the floor with all the kids on top of you. Come on, let’s go now.” In spite of the abruptness of his words, his tone was quietly fond. He’d then turned around and started walking away.

Sirius stumbled to his feet, yelled, “chao” to the kids in farewell, and ran after Remo, who was hiding his smile.

“You like kids,” Sirius had said as soon as they were side by side on the streets, heading towards the docks and walking by the side of the sea for a long time. Sirius’ heartbeat had been beating fast with the knowledge that they were going to Remo’s place - that he was going to see a part of his life, that they would be sleeping in the same place, _again._

“I do, but their parents don’t really like me talking with them,” Remo answered then with a shrug, before changing the topic to ask Sirius about his day with James.

Sirius followed his lead, patted his bag where he had the pamphlets, and chatted about James’ library, and the print, and soon they were talking about Lily’s magazine, and the books Remo had read as a kid at James’ place. While they talked, they’d turned left onto a street and started climbing up a hill that looked much poorer than any of those Sirius had been to before.

Even with the distraction of the conversation and Remo’s eyes on him, Sirius noticed it was a damn long walk that Remo did every day. 

When they finally arrived at Remo's place, Sirius’ heart fell to his feet.

It was miserable.

It didn’t look that bad at first sight - it was a two-flight colonial house, the paint peeling off. Some windows were broken and it was clear they had no electricity, but all in all, it was a majestic front of a house. 

But then the inside - the inside was hard to take in. Still, Sirius tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible as he heard mice running around, as he heard the voices of couples fighting and saw the clothes hanging everywhere and the shadows of garbage piling in corners in the inner yard. 

It smelled pretty strong too - even for Sirius, who as a sailor was used to the smell of people without enough water to wash. 

Remo tried to mumble an apology as he guided Sirius in the dark up some decrepit stairs, warning him about rotten boards or missing steps, but Sirius just shook his head and said, softly, “it’s okay, Remo,” so they climbed quietly in the dark, until they got in front of a door, the paint also falling apart. 

Sirius thought the door was red, but it was too dark to be sure.

He could hear a couple fucking on the same floor, and a baby crying a couple of doors away, and as soon as they were inside, Remo fumbling to get a candle, Sirius realized the room was smaller than he had thought, and they could hear the neighbours talking quietly through the wall.

When the candle was lit, Sirius could see that Remo was flushed as he swallowed and said, “this is it.”

The room was long and narrow and very clean compared with the rest of the building. By the door stood a ratty table with a gas burner, a battered, blackened pot, a plate, a glass, and a spoon. Remo had put the bag he was carrying there, and Sirius saw the shape of bread and a small box of tea in it. There was a chair with books and magazines to the brim, a mattress with woollen covers, and a box by the bed with bags of clothes and work tools, and barely enough space left between the chair and the bed to stand.

That was it. The wall by the head of the bed had no window and it was covered with marks of humidity. Sirius stood by the door, switching his weight from foot to foot, not knowing what to do.

“Um, you can go sit on the bed,” Remo said, lighting another candle before moving to leave it on a small plate by the side of the bed, the other stuck to the table. “I’ll go get some water in case you want to wash and so we can have some tea. There’s a latrine in the backyard - I’ll guide you if you need to use it, but there’s a - well, if you need to pee, there’s a clean pot under the bed. I’ll - I’ll be going now,” he said, before taking the pot on top of the table and disappearing into the dark.

The door was actually green and rotting and it didn’t have a fucking lock, Sirius realized then, as he moved towards the bed, still a bit shocked. Everything was so battered, so old, so grimy, even though it was clear that Remo tried to keep it as clean as possible. The walls were full of cracks, no paint, and there was a hole on the ceiling that Sirius didn’t want to think about how Remo coped with during the winter.

He breathed in and out, trying to feel normal again. He’d been in worse places, he was sure. Remo did a fucking fantastic job keeping the place livable. It was definitely more than Sirius did for his own shitty apartment. 

When Remo got back, Sirius felt a bit more normal in his skin. Remo entered and smiled shyly at Sirius before turning to the table to leave the pot. He took another pot from under the table and put half of the water in there. He moved the books to the floor with soft, tired movements, and pointed the chair to Sirius with his head and a sweet smile, leaving the pot on the floor, and a cloth hanging on the back of the chair.

“You can clean yourself if you want,” he said softly, and Sirius nodded as he moved, slowly, suddenly tired, to the chair, where he let himself fall carefully, and started unbuttoning his shirt. Remo made a vague attempt at busying himself but ended up fumbling around before giving up and turning back again, uncertain and beautiful. With hesitant movements, he leaned against the table, his arms shaking a bit as they supported his weight, looking at Sirius with a mix of exhaustion and wonder in his eyes. Sirius looked at him steadily and invitingly, and Remo’s eyes followed Sirius’ fingers, and _okay, yeah_ , Sirius could get used to this, having Remo’s eyes roam over him, following his movements. He hung his shirt over the back of the chair, and sat down, debating with himself if taking his pants off was a too-direct move. He decided that _hey_ if he’d been invited to _clean himself_ , he’d better do what he usually did - and that included washing his balls and behind his knees. 

He had his button undone and his fly open, and he was about to raise his hips to pull the pants down as Remo’s throat bobbed up and down, his eyes followed the shape of Sirius’ dick, when the door burst open, and a red-headed man entered, closing the door immediately behind him, a sly smile on his lips.

“Remo, al fin…” the man started saying, as Remo turned to him, flushed. The stranger made eye contact with Sirius, who still had his hands looming over his crotch.

Sirius’ brain made an executive decision for him then and as he frowned, wanting to punch the guy, he reached back, throwing the cloth over his shoulder, and submerged his hands on the cold water to splash it over his face, shutting the world out. Remo and the man started talking fast, Remo’s voice going up as he spoke in his native language. The guy responded as fast, and with a tone that Sirius didn’t like at all - mellow and soft; what could only be described as _intimate_ , with only the bare amount of laughter behind the words. 

When Sirius looked up again after drying his face, the guy’s hand was playing with a strand of Remo’s hair, and he was laughing softly before making eye contact with Sirius again. He said something to Remo, and Remo sighed and turned to Sirius.

“Sirius, this is Fabian, Fabian, Sirius,” he said, without making eye contact with Sirius.

“Hola,” Sirius said, awkwardly, suddenly very aware of his accent and how rough his voice was after days of speaking in public.

“El gringo de los Wobblies?” Fabian said in response, looking at Remo, a smirk on his face. Remo’s face was stony as he answered something fast under his breath, and then Fabian was answering back, equally fast, and Remo turned back to look at Fabian, Sirius quickly forgotten as they mumbled to each other, their heads close together to not be heard by the neighbours.

To do something that wasn’t standing up and pushing Fabian out of the room, or worse, waiting there awkwardly like a kicked puppy, Sirius kept cleaning himself with the water and the cloth. With the red-headed man there, he decided to not take his pants off, so instead, he just washed his armpits, his neck and scrubbed at his face as roughly as he could in the places he usually got dirt.

As the men kept talking, Sirius decided to not look back at them but instead looked at a mark on the wall. He knew that if he looked back at them, he’d feel an even greater pang of jealousy, so he opted to keep his eyes averted, acting like _nothing_ was happening because _really_ , he had no right to get jealous, nor angry, so he just waited there, his eyes fixed on the mark, trying to think (unsuccessfully) of what he’d say to the workers the next day.

“Chao, gringo,” he heard then, and turning, he got to see the door closing, and Remo looming by it. 

Sirius couldn't stop the words that came next, even though he didn’t want to know.

"A boyfriend?" He asked, trying to sound neutral.

To his horror, Remo shrugged.

"Nothing serious, just a casual thing," he said, not making eye contact, as he moved to hover close to the table, his cheeks still flushed.

"Oh," Sirius said, feeling something sad and ugly stir in his belly, something that he _shouldn't_ feel, mixed with fear of being invisible and rejected by the workers, after feeling invisible even to Remo. "I was thinking, I better get going," he said then, feeling his voice shake a bit, knowing he was being stupid as he closed his pants and grabbed his shirt, putting it on his arms but leaving it unbuttoned. "I - I don't think it is a good idea that I go to talk with the workers tomorrow," and he barked a self-deprecating laugh. "What was I thinking, it is your words that they hear, I don't even know why your people -"

As his hand made contact with the doorknob, he felt a warm hand tugging at his arm. He turned and was met with Remo's shiny brown eyes.

"Hey, no," Remo said softly, kindly, his hand still on Sirius' arm. "It's your words, Sirius, it's all your words. It's your passion that they see, the ideas you bring, that are full of hope and life. It was you who convinced the hairdressers to join the strike. What's with this - what's going on? Are you nervous after seeing Fab, are you nervous about meeting other people? Or - do you -" And Remo suddenly seemed much more unsure, as he frowned and looked to the floor then, all black eyebags and corners of his mouth pointing down, his hand on Sirius' forearm burning through Sirius’ shirt.

Sirius felt desperation bubble inside of him, as he scanned Remo's face for _something, anything_. Remo kept his eyes averted.

"How did you end up with those scars?" He said then, because he couldn't hear himself voice how pathetic he was. He wasn't sure if he was trying to hurt Remo or to know every detail of his life. His voice was even, almost cruel, and he realized it was both.

Remo's hand squeezed a bit on his forearm, and he furrowed his brow.

"Shit, sorry, that's none of my business," Sirius stated then again, as he reached back for the doorknob at his back, blindly, with the hand that Remo wasn’t holding.

"Sirius, no, don't go," Remo said, still all softness. "Would you take a seat? I'm just trying to put some order to my ideas to explain it to you," he said gesturing with his other hand towards the bed, and he finally looked again into Sirius' eyes, pleading, like Sirius hadn't just stumbled into his life, demanding explanations without any right.

"I - sorry. You don't have to, you know? To explain, I mean. I’m just being -" he tried again, but still moved towards the small bed, shifting close to Remo in the small space, their clothes brushing as he walked by. He then sat awkwardly on top of the covers as Remo moved to the table to busy himself with the fire.

"I know. I want to tell you," Remo said simply, looking over his shoulder and giving Sirius a certain nod. "Stay here, yes? I need to go ask for a cup - I only have one. I have some books," he said, pointing to the chair like Sirius hadn’t been sitting there just a second ago. "Some are in English, some have pictures. I just need some tea for this talk," he said sheepishly. "Stay?" He asked again, and his voice was so slow, so soft, so _different_ from the voice he’d used to talk with the red-haired man, that Sirius couldn't do anything but nod.

Remo smiled again, like it really meant the world to him that Sirius was staying, and Sirius suddenly felt _so small_ , and _so big_ at the same time, as Remo slid out of his door raising one of his fingers.

"One minute, I promise," and then the door was closed again in front of Sirius.

Sirius breathed in, and with a big sigh he let himself fall down onto the bed. The covers were made of itchy, old wool: bright pink, dark yellow, brown and beige strands mixing together in diamonds-and-lines patterns. It was clear that it was old, but hadn’t been cheap back when it was new, and Sirius wondered idly if it had been a gift from James.

How stupidly jealous could he get on behalf of one dude in one day? he asked himself, bitterly. Still, he made a mental note not to act on the emotions. It wasn’t Remo’s fault, and moreover, it wasn’t something he wanted for himself either. He wanted to feel comfortable with Remo and his past, no matter who his lovers were or had been. 

What he really craved, he realized, was knowing those parts of Remo’s history, _really_ knowing about his past, and his first love, and what he connected with his current partners, and his dreams and fears; and wasn’t that worse, somehow, than just being jealous of who he slept with, who he shared the intimacy of his body with? Wasn’t it worse, somehow, to crave that connection, that emotional intimacy, for love in bodies and souls?

He didn't know what was happening to him. It was like this city was growing on him faster than he expected. He didn't want to leave, he realized, as he sat back up and forced himself to go to the tall pile of books. He set the books back on the chair, moving the pot with water under it before kneeling in front of the chair to check the tomes. He moved his finger over the moulds. Most of the books were cheap, flaky editions, with just a few exceptions - James' father’s books, he presumed, because they were in English. He recognized some names - Bakunin, Kropotkin, Malatesta. All anarchists. 

Sirius smiled. For _not_ being an anarchist, Remo definitely kept himself close around their ideas.

Then, amongst the books, Sirius noticed a small set of magazines, letters already blurred. He took them out and flipped through them, looking at the images of women working in factories, skirt patterns, soups, and short texts. Remo's name wasn't anywhere, but Sirius was fairly sure these were the magazines he'd talked about; the ones he edited for Lily.

The printing quality was pretty bad, but the magazines had _something_ in them - the arrangement of the panels, the short texts, the montage of images maybe - that was very alluring. He took the small pile of magazines and moved back to the bed to skim over them.

"From all the things there, you had to pick the most boring of all?" Remo's voice came after the door opened up again, full of laughter and something like fondness. "You know I have some erotic photography from Europe that James gifted me, right?" 

Sirius laughed and finally looked up from the magazines. Remo was back in front of the table, turning on the fire and fumbling with ratty teabags and a sugar bowl he’d probably borrowed from some neighbours too. He looked relaxed there, with the mismatched cups in his hands, as he hummed softly.

“Well, this is your work, isn’t it? So for me, it’s the most interesting thing there,” he said, simply, feeling suddenly brave. What else was there to fuck up? Remo and he had already made out a couple of times, and Remo had invited him to stay and had asked his boyfriend to leave _._ Putting the pieces together, Sirius felt suddenly much more confident.

Remo laughed lowly and shook his head, the point of his ears turning a bit red.

“It’s not _my work_ , it’s a collective work,” he said before adding, almost out of breath, “still, what a line, Sirius Black,” and Remo turned to look at him as he waited for the water to boil.

They stood in silence for a beat looking at each other as Sirius’ fingers trailed over the covers of the magazines, getting slightly black with the ink. There was electricity between them, yes, but also comfort and calmness that Sirius hadn’t experienced much in his life - and he was suddenly reminded of his comfortable afternoon with James. Remo smiled at him, apparently at ease, not needing to fill the silence, and Sirius hummed softly, happily, their eyes meeting over and over again like they were pulled together with magnets. After some minutes, Remo turned back away with a contented sigh to pour the water into the cups. Sirius put back the magazines on top of the books and then moved them from the chair. He hoped for Remo to sit by his side in the bed, but he knew that he might need the space to tell his story.

“You really want to know?” Remo asked in a small, soft voice, as he handed him the tea, before sitting down on the chair in front of Sirius, sipping on his tea. 

“Yes,” Sirius said simply, resisting the urge to apologize for bringing the question so abruptly, since Remo looked small and vulnerable, and more like he needed someone to hear him than he needed to forgive Sirius' lack of sensibility. 

He was rewarded by Remo’s small smile and a soft nod.

“When I was fourteen, my mother died,” he started, voice a bit dreamy and tired, but firm around the facts. “She was very sweet and warm and loved James dearly too. She had always cared for my education and was very happy to let Monty teach me as much as he wanted. He took me under his wing and taught me all that he could - I still went to school, even though it wasn’t mandatory back then, but after classes, instead of going home, I went to James’ house, helped mom as much as I could in the kitchen, and then moved to the library to learn English and Latin, and read Shakespeare and Thomas Morus,” he said, looking into his cup, before drinking some more. Sirius drank too. 

The tea was too hot.

“My father never liked that much, but to be honest, he didn’t like _me_ much either,” he said, laughing humourless, and Sirius’ heart hurt as Remo looked at him, but he just nodded. “When mom died, though, I lost everything from that previous life. Monty called my father to the house, offered to raise me - well, to keep me as a secretary, so I would be working for him, but my dad hated Monty more than he hated me, and moreover, he already suspected my _proclivities_ and - and my feelings for James,” he said, swallowing, moving the wet cloth from the back of the chair, getting up to hang it on the table like he’d just realized it was wet. “Um, anyway, he made sure of saying no to Monty, and to make it clear for me that I had no place in that house, and that he was going to _set me straight_. The next thing I knew, we were on a ship, leaving everything I’d ever known behind to go work on Lota, in the coal mine. My father thought that I needed some real work to find _the man_ in me,” and he shrugged, as he played with his cup, still standing by the table, looking to the tip of Sirius’ shoes.

“That’s fucked up,” Sirius said, hearing how tight his own voice came out, as his own memories of screams and calls of _righting the wrong_ piled on his mind.

“Yeah, it was,” Remo said with a hollow laugh, looking at Sirius. His gaze softened like he could see deep in Sirius’ eyes his understanding and pain. “And not a great move on his part, if I may say. Miners in the south - they are so much more repressed and closed-minded than people here in the port. It took them a couple of months to figure out who I was and what I liked, and turn us into pariahs. So the scars - some of them are from my dad, some of them are from the men there, who liked to follow me around town. But the big ones,” and he went back to sit on the chair with a second piece of cloth in his hands, as he pointed at his face and one of his arms, “were from an accident. Or, well, sort of an accident. They are a sign of my luck, in a way, and the hate too,” he drained his tea then, and set the cup on the floor, by the books, before pulling the pot with water out from under the chair. He unbuttoned his shirt systematically, looking at his fingers, his hands more steady than Sirius’, who was shaking.

Remo sat there, just in his undershirt, quiet for a beat. His shirt hung from the chair, and he sighed and sunk his hands in the already murky water, splashing his face carefully so as to not spill around. 

Sirius wondered if the conversation was over, if he was supposed to just say, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,’ and then stumble around the place to figure out which was the more comfortable corner to sleep, just to be pulled back to the bed by Remo (and he knew he would accept the bed, with guilt and panic, too nervous to ask Remo to get in it with him), but then Remo towelled his face, and washed his armpits methodically, and started to talk again.

“It was hard at first, but I managed to get strong enough to tolerate the work in the mine. It was still awful - no air, and all you breathe is dust, and people die in their thirties because of it. Still, being down the mine was the only time of peace for me, so I enjoyed it as much as I could. Me and my father, we worked together most of the time. He’d managed to convince the boss that I was better off being supervised by him than with other youth of my age. Still, the hate of the men in town was rising steadily, and so one day, they decided to make their threats true - they let lose a cart so it would run over me. A perfect accident, you see? Well. The cart ended up breaking the metallic rope, derailing, and hitting my father, as the rope cut my face, arm, and the side of the cart fucked my hip,” he said, looking back at Sirius, his eyes firm and steady as he moved the water back under the chair. 

Sirius felt dizzy, like puking, like punching a wall, like hugging Remo. All he did, in the end, was stay put on Remo’s bed, surrounded by the smell of his skin on the covers, and nodded. 

Remo nodded back and then sighed, passed a hand over his eyes, and looked up to the ceiling, before laughing. 

“All he left me were his Sunday shoes(13) - everything else was stolen by ‘his friends’,” he said, and when he looked back at Sirius, his eyes were bright, but not from tears, but with something like pride. “So I patched myself up as best as I could, took the shoes, walked for two days to the port and sucked the cock of a Capitan so he’d let me get on the ship and come back to Valparaíso before they could come back for me and finish the job,” and he smiled, faintly and bitterly, but his eyes remained serious and bright. “That’s about it. That’s how I got my scars. What about you?” he asked, and the smile turned into something soft and small as Remo stood up, picked up his empty teacup, and gently took the cold cup from between Sirius’ fingers. Remo drained the bitter, lukewarm liquid in Sirius’ cup, pulling a face at the taste, and moved to leave the cups on the table.

“What - what scars?” Sirius asked, confused, not knowing what Remo meant. He could hear the note of panic in his voice at the idea that he might have some physical marks of his past on his body.

Remo laughed softly, sweetly, and when he walked back, he sat down on the bed by Sirius’ side, their knees falling together - Remo was warm, and a chill ran down Sirius’ back at the contact.

“I’m just messing with you. You don’t have to tell me about your past,” and he put his hand softly, hesitantly, on top of Sirius’ knee. Something melted in Sirius’ heart, so as Remo started saying, “thank you for listening, truly, but maybe we should get to sleep…” Sirius’ brain suddenly kicked in.

“I do want to tell you,” he said, his voice softer than he’d ever heard it, and his heart beating so strongly that he could hear it in his ears. “About my past, I mean,” he said, looking at Remo’s tanned fingers against his black trousers, and how the nails were slightly bitten down. He breathed in and with a shaky hand, reached for Remo’s hand and threaded their fingers together. “Fuck, Remo, I want to tell you everything - and I want to hear everything about you. You don’t know how bad I want to -” 

Sirius cut himself mid-phrase, as Remo squeezed his fingers back. He managed to gather his courage and look back at Remo, and there he was - sitting by Sirius’ side in his undershirt stained with tea and dirty water, his tanned arms covered in scars, his strong shoulders relaxed for the first time since Sirius had met him, and looking back at him with a soft smile.

But what stopped Sirius in his tracks were those eyes. Those soulful eyes, looking straight into his heart, telling him everything - all the secrets of life and death, the mysteries of the future, the depths of the past -, and inviting him to tell everything back.

“I want, too,” Remo said simply and swallowed, the smile turning a bit more uncertain in his face.

Sirius smiled back, feeling his chest opening like a fucking flower, and euphoria filling his veins.

“Okay,” he said, the big smile on his lips clear in his voice. “C'mere then,” he said as he pulled at Remo’s hand, reaching for his face with his other hand to kiss him. Remo smiled back, and grabbed Sirius’ hair firmly, pushing his bitten nails against his scalp.

“Everything later, then,” Remo muttered against his mouth, before softly biting Sirius’ lip, and pushing with his body until Sirius gave in and let himself fall on top of the covers.

Remo tasted sweeter and felt softer under his hands in his own home. He looked more vulnerable, and his eyes stopped for longer on Sirius’ body, on Sirius’ face, as he traced every inch of his skin. He looked a bit sadder too, but Sirius was pretty certain that he looked similarly nostalgic, with the knowledge that this whole thing was to end in a couple of days. 

They could take their time here, even if they had to remain quiet. They could take their clothes off slowly, piece by piece, and touch not only cocks and faces, but backs, and arms, and legs, and chests. Sirius kissed Remo’s belly, and Remo scratched Sirius’ thighs, and instead of staying in silence, they were mumbling soft words about the other in the dim light of the candles - about the other’s body, about how good it felt, how beautiful the moment was. Before he could stop himself, as Sirius shifted to lay upside down to kiss Remo’s calves, Remo’s knees, Remo’s hips, he found his words moving, shifting as he pressed his nose against Remo’s pubes, to be about how Remo felt like _home_ , like _being known_ , like _future._

And instead of staying quiet, as Sirius’ feared as the words spilled from his mouth, Remo pushed his nose against Sirius’ leg and mumbled something about how he made his heart pick up pace, how he’d felt like an unavoidable force of nature from the first second he saw him. Remo sighed as Sirius started sucking him off, before taking Sirius into his mouth and making time stop for a while.

As he sucked Remo’s cock, there wasn’t much space for thought, only to taste, and feel, and fall apart with every lap of Remo’s tongue on his own shaft. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, in sync with their sighs and soft moans, muffled against the other’s crotch. He clung to Remo’s scarred hip with his hand, digging his fingers into the meat of his ass, trying to cover as much of Remo’s body under his fingertips, feeling the need to crawl his way into his skin, as Remo’s dick slid over his tongue and into his throat over and over again. In the back of his mind, Sirius wondered what all the words they had said to each other meant - if they were born out of the haze of desire, or if they really meant what he wanted them to mean. A part of him thought he would never be able to stop thinking about them, just like he would never forget about the taste of Remo’s skin on his tongue, the smell of his sweat, the pressure of Remo’s lips around him, the softness of his tongue on the upper side of his dick, the flutter of his ragged breathing over his balls.

Sirius felt somehow like the luckiest man in the world and the man with the saddest fate in the universe as he came down Remo’s throat, before tasting Remo in his own mouth. The heaves of the aftershocks made him shake, the world off its axis as he hid his face against Remo’s brown, soft legs, feeling him trembling too as Sirius slid his ragged fingernails over the back of his thighs.

Later, when he was lulled to sleep in Remo’s arms, spent and satisfied, the covers no longer feeling itchy on his naked skin, Sirius’ sleepy brain thought that _this_ , with Remo, was pretty much close to _everything_ \- everything he’d ever wanted and never dared to wish for himself.

\---

**MIÉRCOLES (WEDNESDAY)**

Sirius woke up with a start as the door was hammered on from outside. They'd barely gotten a couple of hours of sleep. Remo's breath fanned against his neck, as his warm chest kept his back hot. Remo sat up, yawned and looked at Sirius, who was peeking over his shoulder and blinking confusedly at the sudden cold.

Remo smiled.

"Ready to go break your back with a day of honest work?" Remo asked as he stretched, shivered and moved over Sirius to grab some clothes from the box by the bed.

Sirius took the opportunity to follow his face and kiss him on the mouth, making that smile stretch widely.

"Come on. Big day today. We start the strike tomorrow - need to give out the flyers and use your pretty words to convince as many as we can," Remo said as he put his muscle tee on and swung his shirt over his shoulders before kissing Sirius as he sighed, tiredly.

"Can't the revolution wait one more day, so we can stay here, locked in for today?" He asked, but he was already moving to pick his clothes up.

"Really doubt you'd be willing to put the revolution off even for one day for just some rest," Remo said, standing up to put his pants and shoes on, and then walking towards the table to put the last of the water to boil.

"It would be for some rest and some fucking, my darling,” Sirius said, making Remo snort as he waited for the water to warm up while he buttoned his shirt. “And of course, you are absolutely right, I wouldn’t put it off even for an hour," Sirius said with a sigh, feeling something blossom in his chest. "Less than a week and you already know me, go figure. Would feel exposed if I didn't know that behind the façade, you are the same - just as excited as I am for the protests to start," he added, going to pick his shirt up from the chair, where he’d hung it last night, after tossing around with Remo.

Remo moved back next to the bed to pick up some tools that he dropped into a canvas bag, a big smile on his face.

"Oh, just, shhh, pretty boy, shhh. You are going to spill all my secrets," and Sirius had to stand up to kiss him again at that. "Now come on," Remo said against Sirius' lips after a few seconds. "The water is probably warm. There's some bread on the table. It’ll be a long day, so - let’s go."

\---

Talking to the workers went better than Sirius had expected. Remo approached the Old Men on their breaks and introduced Sirius, and then the men asked him some general shit, and Sirius asked them a bit about themselves, and with that, he managed to move the conversation to talk about the need to change things, and the reasons behind the protests. They didn't hand out any flyers for fear of being discovered by supervisors, but they got a couple of nods in agreement at Sirius' translated words, and a couple of grunted maybes.

Remo moved with grace even when bent over with the weight of wooden boxes on his back, and Sirius marvelled at his balance and consistency. Sirius was much bulkier than Remo, and still, he seemed to struggle much more. By noon, Sirius' shoulders hurt like hell and he was ravenous - still, in the fifteen minutes they had for lunch they didn’t eat anything, but busied themselves with the workers, repeating simple slogans to the dirty, frowny men. 

Sirius felt unsure of how much they were accomplishing, but soon they were back to work, trying to utter enough words in the three minutes they had as they carried sacks through the floor, shoulder to shoulder with other workers.

By five, Sirius was exhausted, but all that Remo said was, "we need to go hand out the flyers in Plaza Sotomayor."

Sirius followed him like a dead man walking. They managed to hand out the flyers and talk with people, and Sirius kept his brain forming half-baked ideas that according to Remo (who smiled as he squeezed his arm when Sirius voiced his doubts) were still good enough to convince them. He’d seen other people handing out flyers covertly around the city - somehow, they managed to do all of that without the police coming along, and Sirius was more than happy to end the week without having to spend some hours in a prison in a country where he didn’t know how things worked in jail.

By the time night came along, Sirius said softly, “stay with me tonight?” and Remo just nodded, as they started to walk back to Minnie and Poppy’s hostel.

Even exhausted, when they undressed slowly, when they kissed until time turned meaningless, when they fucked slowly and quietly that night, Sirius felt he was closer to feeling like pouring his soul open for Remo to pick at, than anything he’d ever done before. And that, somehow, felt more scary but also more gratifying than he’d ever thought that it could feel.

When Sirius fell asleep with Remo curled up by his side, their legs tangled together and Remo’s arm over his belly, Sirius dreamt of ships taking Remo away, and him crying on his knees, heartbroken.

**JUEVES (THURSDAY)**

Sirius woke up when it was still dark, knowing he had been having a nightmare. Remo was sitting by his side, without pants or underwear but a shirt on, still unbuttoned. The fabric felt rough as it brushed Sirius’ forearm as Remo loomed over him. 

“Sirius, hey, Sirius,” he said softly, as he moved his fingers over Sirius’ cheek, carefully. “Just a dream, love, it’s all good,” Remo said quietly, so Sirius allowed himself to kiss the palm of that hand and snuggle into Remo’s side, mumbling nonsense, as he felt his heart returning to its regular rhythm, the sweat on the back of his neck cooling down.

“Sirius,” Remo was then saying, as Sirius drifted in and out of sleep. “Hey, don’t fall back asleep yet. I have to go out, okay? I promised Pedro I'd help with some banners and get some things ready at the community centre in case things go south - but I’ll be here before eight to pick you up, to be downtown at nine for when the protests move to the centre, okay?”

Sirius tried to ask to go with him, but he was so tired that before he realized it, he was back asleep, just making some soft noises as he felt the warmth of Remo’s body move away.

He woke up next with his door being knocked on. He sat up startled and confused, not knowing where he was and if the previous day had happened or if it was all a dream - maybe he was still tangled in Remo’s covers in his shitty room. But then Minnie’s voice came from the other side, calling his name non-stop.

“Un momento,” Sirius called back, trying to untangle himself from the sheets and put some clothes on, but Minnie was already entering the room as Sirius tried to put his trousers on. She seemed absolutely unfazed by this and only kept talking, fast and urgent, her fists tight on the sides of her skirt.

“Espera, espera,” Sirius stumbled with the words as he got dressed, not caring about what he put on. “No entiendo, muy rápido,” he tried to slow her down, so he could try to pick some words.

Minnie stopped and took a long intake of air.

“La protesta. Abajo, en el Plan(14). Llegó la policía y están llevándose a la gente. Remo está allá. Tienes que ir a buscarlo - no puede correr con su pierna y no puede ir a esconderse al centro sindical porque hay alguien que los vendió,(14)” Minnie said, slow and intently, but all that Sirius got was _protest, Plan, police,_ and _Remo_. He stumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then with his shoes as he tried to put them on again.

“I’m gonna go get him,” he said, but Minnie just started mumbling again, pulling at his arm to take him out of the room. “Voy - busco Remo, no preocupación,” he told Minnie and she nodded.

As he stumbled out of the house trying to pull some longer strands of hair away from his eyes and still arranging his shirt over his shoulders, he vaguely noticed how empty the streets on the hill were. It didn’t matter, because even though he didn’t know where Remo might be, he was pulled by the need to _go_ and _try to find him_ and _do something_. There was no time to think of anything else.

He was running down the hill before he realized it, jumping up short flights of stairs and stumbling down the longer ones. His heart was beating fast as he finally made it down to the city. There, Sirius started to walk as fast as his tired muscles allowed him towards the centre of the city.

He heard the yells, cries and chants of people before he even got there - before he turned the corner that allowed him to see the big park in front of an important building which he hadn’t bothered to ask about. The streets were busier as he entered the civic centre, but he didn’t have much mind to pay any attention to anyone that wasn’t Remo. He searched amongst the faces frantically for brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin; soft smiles, kind gaze, sweet voice; scars and dirt and dark eyebags. There were too many people, and everyone stumbled up and down, and Sirius was starting to feel helpless as he approached the park. 

When he finally got to the opening of the street that allowed him to have a full look at the plaza he stopped in his tracks. It was full of people - more people than he’d thought they would manage to get there. There were banners and flags and people with posters on their hands yelling and chanting together. 

And there were so many policemen with their batons out, with sabers at their waists, trying to pull banners down, trying to grab whoever was in front of them, as long as they didn’t look posh. Women were yelling at them with children in their arms or on their backs, and men were trying to pull back the people being separated from the mass, and he saw a burly man who looked like a butcher throwing a fist directly at the nose of a policeman before being attacked by at least ten officers. 

In the distance, Sirius heard something that sounded like a shot.

People pulled and pushed like a wave, and Sirius had been in protests - he had, but this was different, and there were _so many people_ , so many, that he felt dizzy and lost. It was like every hill had bled down and pulled all their lost, poor children from its guts: people in rags, well-dressed intellectuals; bulky dock workers; too skinny, food-deprived youth, women with big hips and angry voices.

Another gunshot seared through the air.

It was like everything went silent for a second - and then the people started bellowing harder, showing teeth, throwing themselves headfirst at the police. Sirius saw, stuck to his spot, how the face of a man got covered in blood after getting hit on the head by a police officer with his baton, and how he stumbled before being pulled away by a couple of short men, as a group of at least eight people threw themselves between the man and the policeman. He saw how a woman was grabbed by the hair and pulled across the ground. He watched a kid, barely dressed, crying in the middle of the park, desperate, as people started to run away, as another gunshot resonated between the buildings.

He was frozen in his place before he was almost run over by a bulky man who just yelled at him before running again. The banners were falling but still a wall of young men remained in position, trying to stop the police, even as the sabers shone under the sunlight.

Like in a dream, Sirius thought of Remo again. _I should go to the Wobblies’s place_ , his mind provided, remembering how Remo had mentioned something about having an emergency plan. He shook himself out of his stupor and tried to figure out where that was, and as he walked with the mass of people, following without thinking, a low rumble started to surround them.

_Horses_ , he thought with a shudder.

“Sirius, Sirius!” he heard then, as someone pulled at his arm to turn him around, and as he bolted, he came face to face with James Potter.

“James,” he said with relief for a second, but then words spouted out of his mouth with urgency. “Where's Remo? What can we -” 

James yelled frantically on top of him, as they heard yells and the sounds of fighting behind them.

“No, no sé, pero tenemos que irnos ahora, Sirius. We leave now!” he yelled, pulling at Sirius’ arm frantically.

“A los Wobblies?” Sirius asked as James pulled him towards some smaller streets. They could hear the hooves of the horses against the stones, the screams of people as they tried to run away from the animals. Amongst the chaos, Sirius tried to orient himself - he was pretty sure they weren’t going in the direction of the community centre of the Wobblies.

“No, no, Lily’s,” James yelled, seeming to fight with the words at the moment, and then they were suddenly climbing the couple of blocks up the hill on which Lily’s restaurant was.

The restaurant had wooden planks on top of the glass door and windows. Sirius could hear people running up and down behind them, giving warnings about the police’s movements. He tried to shut out the noise around him and focus on James to avoid having a panic attack. 

James pulled at a plank after knocking in a sequence, and then behind where the wood had been, the door opened(16). They had to bend to fit, and after Sirius, James climbed in and covered the entrance again.

There were a lot of people inside - and most of them were injured. Sirius’ heart fell to the ground at the sight of old people and young kids bleeding, breathless, grabbing broken bones as they cried, or nursing already purpling bruises. There was some quiet chatting and the rumble of hurried steps as people with cloths, water bowls and bandages moved from person to person. Sirius searched frantically between the injured for brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. Worried brow, bitten lips, messed up hair. Soulful eyes that could help him breathe again.

From the kitchen, with a bowl of steaming water in her hands, came Lily. And behind her - walking with his small limp, seemingly unharmed but with hands full of clean cloths, was Remo.

Sirius’ brain didn’t catch up with him as his feet moved of their own accord, stumbling between the people, trying not to knock into anyone in the process. Lily moved quickly out of the way, and Remo threw the towels he was carrying onto a table, walking intently towards him.

Sirius wasn’t thinking as he pushed forward to kiss Remo, grabbing him by the waist, but before their lips could make contact, Remo grabbed at his forearms. He squeezed Sirius’ arms firmly and pushed his forehead against Sirius, keeping the distance between them and said, “come on, into the kitchen.” He didn’t let go of Sirius’ arm as he turned around and pulled him towards the green door he’d just come out of.

Sirius closed the door behind him, and then Remo was crushing into him, grabbing him in a tight embrace, sinking his nose into his neck, mumbling against it.

“Why did you come,” he was saying, as Sirius breathed deeply in his ear, pushing his fingers against Remo’s scrawny back, moving his palms up, pushing his thumb against the base of his skull. “You should’ve stayed at Minnie’s. Something could have happened to you, you ass,” Remo mumbled breathlessly against his neck, and Sirius squeezed him harder before pulling back and grabbing his face with his hands to make Remo look at him.

“I was worried. Minnie was worried. What - what happened? I thought the protest was supposed to start much later,” he asked, pushing his forehead against Remo, who shook his head.

“The strike at the port got out of control. Tons of people came down from the hills to help build the picket line. Someone had passed information to the police. They tolerated it, let us be, but then they killed a man - just, just because,” and Remo swallowed, grabbing at Sirius’ wrists with a death grip like he was a lifeline. “Just in front of everyone. He was so young, Sirius - he wasn’t even - he wasn’t an activist. No socialist, no, nothing. He was just a boy from a hill,” he said, swallowing thickly. 

Sirius nodded and kissed Remo’s cheek, his cheekbones, his nose, as Remo breathed with difficulty with his eyes closed. Sirius set his forehead against him again and breathed slowly and deeply until he could feel Remo breathing with him.

“This isn’t going to end today,” Remo said then, thickly. “We don't forget our deaths that fast.”

Sirius opened his mouth then when someone pushed at the door, trying to open it, making them almost topple down. 

“Soy yo,” said James from the other side, before he entered the small kitchen. “Remo, Sirius, you go,” he said then, and Remo nodded, but Sirius looked at them.

“I’ll translate for you so that James can explain,” Remo said, grabbing Sirius’ hand, intertwining their fingers. He was shaking a bit, but still, as James started talking in fast Spanish, Remo took a steadying breath, but then he shook his head at James and laughed. He said something to James, who smiled, worried. “I’m sorry,” he said then to Sirius. “I’m too out of it, I can’t translate - but I’m going to summarize for you at the end, okay?” 

Sirius nodded and squeezed his fingers, waiting as James talked. Remo asked some questions in the middle and then turned to Sirius, his eyes dark, warm and steely.

“The police are looking for you,” he said, simply and directly. “Someone from the Wobblies was passing information to them, and they want to get you so they can blame all of this on international interventionism. They want to put you on the first page of the newspapers and call you an international terrorist. You have to get away from here and hide, because they’ll come here to look for you, without a doubt. We’ll go through the back door, a neighbour is going to let you in the common backyard of some houses, and from there, they're going to move you to Minnie’s. James sent Lily there already, so she’ll be waiting for you to move you to a safe place.”

“Me? You are not coming?” Sirius asked then, frowning, as he tried to process all the information.

“I…” Remo stumbled, looking back at James, who was frowning too. Remo sighed. “Yes, I’m coming,” he said in the end, before letting go of Sirius’ hand and grabbing James to pull him into a hug.

James then grabbed Sirius' shoulder and pulled him into a hug, before taking a step back, and saying something too fast, but solemn and steady. Remo smiled over James’ shoulder at Sirius. “He says that, in case you don’t see each other before your ship gets here tomorrow, then he hopes you have a great trip to the South. And that you are always welcome back when this cools down - that you can stay with him in his home if you ever decide to leave the US.”

Sirius laughed at that, feeling his stomach turn at the mere idea of maybe, maybe staying here. He nodded.

“Take care, Sirius,” James said in his clumsy, thick accent.

“Tú también, James,” Sirius answered with a big smile, squeezing James’ arm.

Remo made a gesture with his head for Sirius to follow him, and so with a last nod to James, Sirius started tailing him.

\---

They were met by a nervous-looking lady who guided them in silence through a backyard that was more like a dirt patch, stretching through ravines, and up to the hill. Then they had to climb a ladder on a house and get in through a window, up a terrace and then through the roof of another house, before being called in by an old man with a nicotine-stained moustache that led them into the house, guiding them to another backdoor that opened to a small alleyway that they walked through fast, in silence. Remo’s limp was getting more prominent by the second, but neither of them said anything. 

And then, without knowing how, they were coming out of a street a few blocks ahead of Minnie’s and Poppy’s hostel, which, if Sirius remembered well enough, was on _another_ hill.

He didn’t really have the time to think about it because at the door of the hostel was Minnie, tapping her foot on the floor.

She talked fast with Remo after nodding to Sirius and handing him his bag with all his stuff. Sirius took it with confusion as he followed them.

“Minnie thinks they’ll come here looking for you, so she’s taking us to a friend's that has a small storage room apart from the main house where we can hide,” Remo said then, looking more and more exhausted at every minute. Sirius just nodded and said “okay,” and followed them.

After getting through another set of backyards and hillsides, they ended up in front of a small shed in the backyard of a big, majestic house. Minnie took a key out of her skirt and opened the door for them. She and Remo talked for a second at the door, before she waved to Sirius, handed the key to Remo, and closed the door.

“She said this is a service room, and the family is rich enough that they won’t be associated with the disturbances. We even have a bathroom here,” he said, with a slow, tired smile, touching with his feet a chamber pot by the side of the door, before moving to sit on a chair covered with a sheet.

Sirius looked around as he hummed. The place was quite bare - one chair, a table, and what looked like a broken armchair. There was an ironing table piled with clothes and a window but it was high and small, mostly so that air could come in. They wouldn’t have any visuals if the police actually came looking for him - though Sirius doubted they would since they had a big protest to take care of. 

Carefully, he tried the armchair. It creaked under his weight, but even if one of the armrests was loose, and one of the legs was too short, if he pushed his weight back, it managed to stay upright.

They sat in silence for a second, catching their breath. 

The silence stretched between them, and Sirius didn’t know what to do about it.

“Are the protests going to last much longer, you think?” Sirius finally asked, trying to fill the silence.

“At least a few more days,” Remo said, closing his eyes, tired. “Last time I was too young, but people still talk about the protests of 03,” he said as he breathed deeply, his eyes still closed. When he opened them again, his voice was cold, as it hadn’t been from the beginning of their acquaintance. “What time do you have to be on the ship tomorrow?” 

It felt like a bucket of cold water was being dropped on Sirius’ back.

“Eleven,” he said, shrugging a bit, helplessly. “But I’ve been thinking…” he started, just to be interrupted.

“I don’t think it is a good idea that I go with you to the docks. I mean, they don’t know how you look, but they know I’d been working with you. I can come to pick you up at nine to show you how to go down to the Plan again. That should give you enough time to -”

“Hold on,” and this time, it was Sirius’ time to interrupt, as he sat up upright. “what do you mean by ‘picking me up’?”

Remo swallowed and looked away. “I’ll head back down in a bit. Minnie mentioned she left some sandwiches in your backpack for us, so I was thinking of having something to eat and -”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Remo?” Sirius asked, sitting upright, almost knocking the armchair down with his movement. “You know why I went down there? Minnie was worried sick for you. _I_ was worried sick - and here you are, telling me that they know you’d been helping me, that you might be the only link they have to find me, and you are still thinking of going back?” and as he finished, he had to get up to pace around, to try to calm himself down.

“You don’t understand,” Remo said, frowning, looking at his fingers. “This is my people, Sirius. This is my fight. I can’t - I can’t just hide here when I could be -”

“You are not going to change what happens today, Remo,” Sirius said, softly, turning to look at him. “You are not going to help anyone by putting yourself in the line. You won’t - you are not - it makes no sense, Remo! you went through all of this to help me get safe, and you know that if you get down there, you won’t be able to help. You can’t go back to Lily’s either, or you’ll put people there at risk too, and you can’t go back to the Wobblies with a mole there,” he said.

Remo sighed and shook his head.

“I have to at least try, don’t I?” he asked, with a small voice, as he let his head fall back on the chair, looking at Sirius from between his eyelashes.

“Just - please, Remo,” Sirius pleaded. “You know I’m dying to be there too. You know it. And you know it’s not wise for either of us to be there.”

Remo kept looking at him, his face a mask. Then, he sighed, and standing up, took the clothes from the ironing table and threw them on the floor, before throwing the sheet from his chair on top of them.

“Come on, let’s eat the sandwiches,” Remo said then, and Sirius just nodded, acting like he didn’t note the deflection.

\---

Hours passed slowly, and it was probably barely past noon. Sirius’ heart was heavy with need, and he paced the small room while Remo slept fitfully. When he woke up, Sirius went and lay down by his side. Remo turned and smiled sadly at him.

“I want to stay here,” Sirius said in a small voice.

“No, you don’t,” Remo said after a beat, avoiding Sirius’ eyes, frowning.

“You have no right to tell me what I want or what I don’t,” Sirius whispered back, hurt.

Remo was silent for a while.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, and he rubbed at his eyes, looking small and lost. “You are right. I thought you wanted to go to the south to talk to people - to, you know, keep helping people, to bring new ideas, make the IWW bigger.”

It was time for Sirius to stay quiet now.

“I do,” he said in the end, after considering, and his heart ached at the idea of leaving. “Would you come with me?” he asked then, voicing what he’d been thinking for days now.

Remo laughed, hollowly.

“And what, leave my city burning in the middle of the protests?”

They looked at each other again, seconds ticking between them, afternoon light coming in from the window.

“I don’t want to lose this,” Sirius said in the end, still looking back at Remo, his eyes going glassy.

Remo lay silent, his lips tightly together, his pupils blown up, as he breathed harshly.

“And what is ‘this’, Sirius?” Remo asked in the end, soft and small, his voice shaking.

“You. This. The city. James. I don’t know. It’s like this city has made a hollow in my chest. Or maybe that was there from before, but now it’s - bigger, clearer, I don’t know. I -” he reached for Remo’s hand, feeling a cold shiver as he grazed his rough skin with his fingertips. “You, Remo. I have never felt like this. I don’t want to lose you,” he said in the end.

Remo hummed and even though he looked sad, he squeezed Sirius’ fingers.

“You’ve only known me for a week, Sirius,” he said, and Sirius just shrugged, helplessly. Remo took a breath, and then looked to a spot above Sirius’ ear, his voice small, even though he aimed for casual. “Where are you going next?”

“Corral. And then to the mountains - Osorno,” he said, butchering the names. “Would you come with me? I don’t know how I’m supposed to speak with anyone there. I didn’t consider the problem of language until I was here,” he admitted, looking at Remo’s bobbing throat.

Remo smiled sadly and then laughed.

“What, you need a translator to talk to the cows?” And Sirius didn’t know what to say at that, so he laughed a bit, anxious and hollow in his own ears.

“What?” 

“Well, Osorno - it’s a city in the middle of nowhere, Sirius - it’s just - cows, and, well, I guess there are people to take care of the cows, but - anyways, how are you even getting there? it’s not a port.”

Sirius shrugged.

“Someone is supposed to pick me up after Corral - I don’t remember his name - and take me there,” he said.

Remo hummed.

“And then what?” Remo asked, in a small voice.

“Then what?”

“Then what, Sirius? I go with you to the south, to Osorno, then what?”

“Oh,” Sirius said, his heart beating fast in his chest. “I - I don’t really know. There’s another ship that I’m supposed to work on a week later. I think it’s going to Uruguay,” he said, looking at Remo’s eyes, feeling full of hope, but Remo gave him a dark look back.

“I don’t do well on ships, Sirius, much less through Magallanes(17) - they say it’s a nightmare to navigate through it,” Remo said, turning to look up at the ceiling, untangling their fingers. “I’ve tried my luck on ships. I get dizzy, and I hate them. I can’t - I can’t be a sailor like you,” he said, and his voice was small and broken. Behind the words, Sirius felt the tug of hope - of maybe not being alone with his feelings, of maybe Remo having feelings that matched his. Sirius sat up quickly, feeling his guts twist and his heart in his mouth.

“Then we’ll come back here. We’ll go to the south and then come back here. I’ll stay here with you. I’ll -”

“It’s not that easy, Sirius,” Remo said, coldly, sitting up too, his frown set. “What the fuck are you even going to do here?”

Sirius shrugged but looked deep into Remo’s eyes, who was looking at him, confused, upset, maybe a bit hopeful.

“Nothing too different from what I do in the US. Try to be happy, first and foremost,” he said, and at that, Remo seemed to melt.

“You big softie,” he said shaking his head, before throwing himself on top of Sirius, kissing him breathlessly.

Sirius could feel Remo’s scepticism even as they kissed and panted into each other’s mouth. He could feel Remo’s thoughts - _you are a Wobblie, all that you know is how you live in the US, fighting is your way of living, you’ll never settle for the quiet life of someone staying in one city, you are too much of a sailor at heart._ He knew that nothing he could say would convince Remo, so he just kissed him firmly, and let Remo cradle his face between his hands, firmly, and undo him completely.

It already tasted like his heart breaking, and yet - even though he wanted to cry, to scream, to beg - all he could do was hang onto Remo’s body and breathe close to his neck, wishing for something, _anything_ , that told him how to keep Remo by his side.

\---

“Tell me about you,” Remo asked, as he pushed his head against Sirius’ shoulder, both of them looking at the ceiling, trying to catch their breath again. They weren’t going to fuck, Remo had said, not until the night arrived, because they needed to keep their ears open in case the police came around. They wouldn’t come in the middle of the night to a respected house, Remo said, so Sirius’ heart beat fast as his fingers moved under Remo’s shirt.

Sirius hummed at the question.

“I was born into a rich family. Very, very rich,” he started, and Remo hummed.

“I knew you were posh,” he said with a smile, before kissing Sirius’ cheek and nestling closer. Sirius laughed.

“Yeah, I was. I left when I was sixteen - didn’t have much of an option, after realizing I prefered men. My parents never figured it out while I still lived in their state, but they didn’t have to in order to dislike me,” and he noticed the corners of his mouth going down, in spite of himself. “They hated me since I was a child. I was never enough for an heir, never proper, too messy, never willing to shut my mouth in the face of their bigotry. And as I grew older, they found more and more fault in everything I did. I always had friends that were not the best possible company that I could keep, from newly rich families or even the middle class. I didn’t care enough about the family business, didn’t want to carry on their old traditions, and I even dared to joke about distributing the property amongst the workers if I ever came to inherit it. That earned me a proper punishment, but by then, I was used to their beatings, to being locked in without eating for a week, or whatever. The last straw for them was when I became really close with a low-class boy. They didn’t even know we were fucking, it was just the _principle_ of me, spending time with a kid that earned his living working under the sun. They kept me locked in a room for a full summer, so after that, I grabbed my things and moved across the country to California, and begged for a job on the first steamer that I found. Didn’t really stop since then,” he said, kissing the top of Remo’s head.

Remo hummed and kissed his collarbone.

“And the Wobblies?”

Sirius shrugged.

“Just made sense to me. I met some activists on a ship and was invited to reunions when I got back on the land. Participated quietly for months but when the secretary learnt that I had had an education, they asked me to get involved to help with documents. I don’t know how, but at some point I started giving speeches, going to talk with teachers and students, and other sailors when I was at sea. And I started liking it. This was the first big occasion that I had to prove my public-speaking abilities though. I had never been asked to do something like this,” he hummed.

“Mmm, maybe that’s why you are so starstruck with the city,” Remo said, and Sirius tensed at the words, feeling Remo’s attempts to convince him that _this_ wasn’t real.

“It’s not,” he said then, harder than he intended, and then he sighed. “It’s not that, Remo. Is it that hard for you to believe me that -”

“It’s not,” Remo interrupted him, putting a finger over Sirius’ lips, before moving up to kiss him, slowly and carefully. “It’s not, I’m sorry. I’m just - scared. I don’t know. I don’t know what any of this means, Sirius. I don’t know how we would even -” and he trailed off, kissing Sirius again.

They kissed, achingly, slowly, with sadness in their tongues. When Remo finally moved away, there was barely light in the room.

“Tell me about the things that made you happy back in the US, then,” Remo said then, moving his head back down to Sirius’ chest, and Sirius took a deep breath, and started laughing.

“I’m really not sure,” he said then, squeezing Remo’s shoulder, feeling tears coming out of his eyes as he laughed, laughed and laughed.

Remo smiled up at him, and moved quickly to straddle his hips, before bringing his head down to kiss Sirius’ cheeks, grabbing his wrists to pin his arms above his head. Sirius’ panicky laughter calmed down slowly, leaving him smiling warmly at Remo.

“I can tell you what makes me happy now, though,” he said cheekily. Remo just shook his head, a big smile on his face too.

“No, no. I want to know more about you,” he said then, with a shrug, as he let go of Sirius’ wrists and accommodated himself with his arms crossed on top of Sirius’ chest to look up at him, moving his legs to fall between Sirius’ tights.

Sirius kept smiling as he nodded, and moved his hands to play with Remo’s hair, before starting to talk about his brother.

They fell asleep at some point, not really intending to do so, Remo’s head on Sirius’ chest. Sirius dreamt of being on the ceiling of James’ home, with police officers trying to grab him from the floor.

When a violent wind threw him from the ceiling and he started to fall, he woke up with a start.

\---

**VIERNES OTRA VEZ (FRIDAY AGAIN)**

Sirius woke up stiff and cold, the sunlight already coming in through the window. 

He was alone.

His heart beat a mournful rhythm as he moved the clothes back to the ironing table and the sheet over the chair, the room suddenly feeling too quiet, too big, inhospitable. He searched his bag half-heartedly for some note, but nothing. With each minute, he was more aware of how alone he was in the world, how his heart longed for connection, for future, for love. For Remo.

He guessed that Remo had made a decision about moving on with his life.

When he left the room, he put on his hat to try to disguise his looks. He thought that it was like taking a new face and leaving what he had been during his time in Valparaíso behind. Sirius walked hesitantly through the garden bordering the house, until he was out of the gate, feeling his heart fast in his chest, fear of being found by the police mixing heavily with his sorrow. He felt a bit lost, without direction, so just to avoid stopping and let himself think, he started to walk downhill towards the port. He decided he would wait there for his ship to depart, hoping that the rat amongst the Wobblies didn’t know about his schedule.

The city was silent - the calm between storms, it felt like. There was broken glass, street signs and scorch marks in the streets as he walked into the Plan. Some stores had been vandalized and there were loose stones everywhere - the improvised weapons of the people to defend themselves. Sirius stopped in a diner and paid for some beans that he ate slowly, pretending they filled the hollow in his soul. 

He didn’t know how it came to be because with the city in disarray and his own lonely feet, it all felt like a blur, but suddenly he was at the docks, and in front of him was the ship he was getting onto, as was arranged beforehand. Sirius nodded to another sailor that he’d seen on some other jobs and boarded quietly, his heart beating fast, his feet slowing down as he walked up the ramp, his mind pleading for a yell with his name to come from the streets. But nothing came, so before the sun was overhead, he was up on the ship, his heart heavy and his mouth bitter. 

The only thing left for him to do was to set down his stuff and try to get to work immediately. He’d never had a broken heart, but it felt like the only thing he could do to stop himself from jumping off the ship and running through the streets until he stumbled into Remo’s home.

And he couldn't do that. He couldn’t force Remo to be with him - the message was clear enough. They belonged to different worlds, Remo here, with James, hating the Wobblies, with his boyfriend. Sirius with the sea. With the Wobblies. 

When they were called to help with the departure, Sirius felt like he was back in a dream. He worked frantically with the ropes he had to pull, and screamed with all his strength at the other sailors. He finally was amongst other English speakers. He could yell here and be understood, and whoever didn’t - well, it was their problem. But the ship had a common language, simple words used to indicate maneuvers that everyone needed to know, didn’t matter if they were from South America, the Caribbean or Egypt.

He wished he did not feel the departure from the port as part of his soul being ripped out of his body; he wished to lie to himself and tell himself that he hadn’t even noticed as Valparaíso became smaller and smaller, that it was one more place he was leaving behind, maybe to never return. He wished he could convince his heart that it wasn’t the worst mistake of his life. Instead, as the city turned smaller, Sirius stopped working to go look at the blur of colours, at the hills that hugged the sea, left there by the border of the world, like a jewel on the ocean. 

He thought he’d never loved anything like he learnt to love Valparaíso and Remo, and his hands squeezed the railing he was holding, knuckles turning white in the process.

“Sirius,” came a soft voice from behind him, quieting down all the yells of the sailors in Sirius’ mind. He bolted around, grabbing the railing at his back, as he felt his legs shake.

Remo smiled at him shyly, even though he looked mildly sick, his skin already slightly clammy and green with the movement of the ship. 

Sirius couldn’t speak. His mouth hung open for a few seconds and then a slow smile took over his face.

“Guess they had space for a translator on the ship, who would have thought,” Remo said with a shrug, before laughing delightedly as Sirius finally found the control of his body to walk towards Remo, grab his arms and push their foreheads together, knocking his hat off of his head in the process.

“One of the perks of being unionized - there’s always space for the Wobblies in the ship,” he said, not caring if it made sense or not. Remo snorted and grabbed his arms back, giving him a squeeze, before taking a step back. 

“Not that I’m one,” Remo said, scrunching his nose. “But I guess the Wobblies do make spaces for themselves everywhere. Still, can’t wait for us to come back home,” Remo said, a soft smile in his eyes. “I’ll see you around, sailor,” he added softly, squeezing Sirius’ arms again before turning to disappear in the direction of the cabins.

Sirius’ heart was still beating out of control and his mind felt clearer than it had the whole morning as he turned, still smiling, to pick up his hat. He adjusted his suspenders on his shoulders, whistled over to one of the other sailors, and set himself to work.

He breathed in the sea breeze, feeling it fill his lungs. He could do this, he decided. He could decide what he wanted for his life - and for now, being on this ship with Remo, on his way to another port, it seemed like a pretty good life, one that was worth living and fighting for.

As he pulled a rope to move some cargo, he started humming softly the melody of one of the songs he’d heard during his time in Valparaíso, feeling the soft colours of hope blossoming in his heart.

Maybe good things were coming. Maybe a different future was at bay for them - all of them, workers, queers, forgotten people of the sea. Maybe they could start building it for them, piece by piece, one fight at the time.

\---

  
**Notes**

  1. Panama Canal: The Panama Canal is an artificial waterway in Panama finished in 1914, controlled until 1999 by the USA to facilitate commerce between Europe and the US West Coast. It heavily affected the ports of South America since the previous route involved bordering the continent to cross Oceans through the Strait of Magellan in the south of Chile/Argentina.
  2. About “coger” - this word that means “to grab”, is used as “fuck” in some countries in Latin America, whereas in others it would just give you an eyebrow raise, including Chile, where this story is set. I’m using it here as the word Sirius might have learnt, given the influence of Mexican Spanish in the US. Rest assured that I headcanon him receiving tons of giggling in return.
  3. I went with Remus’ name version in Italian (Remo) as used by aryastark_valarmorghulis in her fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803322">‘Roma is Amor spelled backwards’</a> because that’s the name we use in Spanish too when referring to the Roman myth of Romulus and Remus - Rómulo y Remo.
  4. James’ mistakes are based on my own historical struggles with English, so it’s in no way a representation of every Spanish speaker's difficulties. We are not one homogeneous group.
  5. The use of “Old Men” (Viejo) to refer to workers is of an old tradition in Chile, and it doesn’t relate to age. It is more commonly used between miners but you can also hear it in relation to sailors.
  6. About the Wobblies and homophobia: There’s some historical evidence for this claim that Remo makes about anarchists in Chile not including queer people/being actively homophobic (there’s one discourse of a political leader in the era, but also a general lack of reference to homosexuality that fits the discourse of “moral redemption” associated with alcoholism in Chile, see note 10 for further explanation). Still, I’m just doing historical imagining here, assuming things based on the historical sensibility, news about homosexuality in the era (that referred to it mostly as a sign of the degeneration of the upper class, yikes) and the works of Pedro Lemebel, a queer writer that portrays the same city in the late 1900s. Lemebel shows homophobia but also the solidarity between workers and queer people. I wanted to transmit that feeling too: the fights for workers’ rights and civil rights were different fights at the moment, but queer people were still workers and part of society, even if generally in the margins of history.
  7. Women’s magazines - as a genre - were fairly common in Chile from the late 1800s. They included feminist magazines but went beyond that, including in general publications led by women that thematized, amongst other topics like culture and everyday life, the role of women in society. In Chile, marking a difference with other Latino countries, these magazines were always fairly political in this broad sense since the print arrived almost at the same time that we were fighting for our independence, being its use imbricated with political propaganda/diffusion.
  8. About “Piss head” (caeza’e pichí because of Chilean pronunciation): I don’t think this is historically accurate, but I couldn’t resist this reference. This is a slightly derogatory way of referring to blond people because of the colour of their hair. There’s a hilarious USA/Chilean story about this: A few years ago, a comedian showed how he tweeted every day “caeza’e pichí” to Donald Trump. This led to an AVALANCHE of Chileans commenting on Trump’s Instagram with this same phrase, leading him to close the comment section of his publications. The most hilarious false-explanations were then given when asked by English speakers (“oh, it means good president in one of our indigenous languages”). It was an act of defiance and a show of Chileans’ weird sense of humour in the context of a country that has been heavily intervened by the USA on a number of occasions.
  9. Maricas: A common word for homosexuals in Latin America. Since its meaning is not completely clear (it’s said to come from the name “María” (Mary) and therefore, used to imply effemination as something negative), it’s debated if it’s a slur or not, but it can be weaponized and as such, it’s been reclaimed for a long time by latinxs queer communities. It has also been used, at least in Chilean popular culture, to refer to class differences and how this impacts when it comes to discrimination (being marica/maricón/maricona versus calling yourself gay, the later considered a euphemism and an attempt to make queer identities less disruptive).
  10. The South Cross: The South Cross is a constellation that can only be seen from the southern hemisphere, like the Big Dipper can only be seen from the northern hemisphere. Just like the Big Dipper that points to the north, the South Cross always points towards the south, being both of them very relevant for navigation.
  11. To clarify about anarchists and alcohol: In Chile, the left-wing had a discourse about the regeneration of the people/the mechanisms of control of the upper class that was heavily focused on alcoholism (which was an important problem in Chile in the early 1900s, with rates of consumption of wine three times higher than other countries of Latin America). In this sense, an important project of the left during the early 1900s was related to the creation of groups to rehabilitate from alcoholism. This also took another shade in the Chilean case, where the wine industry was in the hands of the aristocracy and the most powerful families. Therefore, stopping the consumption of alcohol was also seen as sabotage. Given this, anarchists were known for their moralism - or, more specifically, for an oscillation between a Baconian approach to life, considering free love, understood from an orgiastic approach, seeing pleasure as something to reclaim for themselves, and a very moral and prescriptive way of living, associated with frugality and using the free time from work for the arts and “being better people'' in a very specific, normative way.
  12. The demand for workers being provided tools by the companies was one of the important demands on those years.
  13. Sunday shoes: In historically Catholic countries (which includes Latinoamerican countries because of the Spanish colonization, which was heavily focused on religion), there was this tradition to have a specific attire, better than your regular clothes, to go to Mass on Sunday. This is a tradition that can be found in other contexts too, for example, amongst some Black Americans.
  14. El Plan: As I tried to describe through the fic, the city of Valparaíso has a short “flat” zone that’s called “El Plan” (because the word in Spanish for flat: “plano”) where most of the commerce and businesses are, as well as the access to the port. It’s a really, really small strip of land, and most of the everyday life in the city occurs in the hills. Most of the high class is near el Plan or in a nearby city called Viña del Mar (currently conurbated), and the poor people live up in some hills in Valparaíso or smaller towns nearby.
  15. Even though Sirius doesn’t understand this and we get to know what’s happening later, if you are curious about the specific words, Minnie tells Sirius: “The protest. Down there, in the Plan. The police arrived and they are taking people in. Remo is there. You have to go and get him - he can’t run because of his leg and he won’t be able to hide in the syndicalist’s office because someone sold them.” Basically, the woman already knows everything, because she’s that cool and well connected.
  16. By the 21, the Wobblies in Valparaíso had already been raided in their offices a couple of times with false claims about guns and explosives, most likely done by an organization of businessmen trying to stop them. This is why I’m making them being so prepared for the protests and the possibility of their community centre not being available for them.
  17. Magallanes: the Strait of Magellan. See note 1.



**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants references for the things in the fic or in the notes, please just ask me! I would be more than happy to nerd together. I didn’t include them because there’s a lot of them, most of them in Spanish.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. It means the world that you decided to give this weird AU a chance. If you want, I would love to know what you think about this in the comments, but no pressure!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://wanderingbandurria.tumblr.com/) is here if you wanna chat.


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